I hate her, Chloe.

I’ll marry you.”

“You promised by Thanksgiving.”

“I promised.”

I set the bottle on the counter and held the edge of the sink.

The kitchen clock said four seventeen.

Maya made a small sound in her bassinet by the table.

The call timer on the screen kept counting.

I lifted her out and carried her to the sofa.

The phone screen read seven minutes thirty seconds.

I muted my microphone.

Then I opened my laptop on the cushion and started the voice recorder, holding the phone close.

Chloe asked if the last transfer had cleared.

Julian said it had.