Her voice was calm.

“Ma’am, would you mind putting that out while we talk?”

Sloan stared at her, apparently unused to requests she couldn’t dismiss with a sneer.

She crushed the cigarette into the kitchen dish and folded her arms.

Marcus didn’t look at either of them.

He looked at me.

“Are you safe enough to talk here, or would you rather step outside?”

The question seemed simple.

It nearly undid me.

In six months under my son’s roof, nobody had asked what I wanted without already deciding the answer.

“I’d like to talk outside,” I said.

Daniel blocked the doorway for a moment.

“Mom, don’t embarrass yourself.”

I looked at my son and discovered I could speak without pleading.