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“No,” Erica says.

“You’re pretending painful automatically means correct.”

I look down at my hands.

“I did what I had to do.”

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do,” she says.

“That doesn’t mean you wanted to.”

I glance toward the living room again. Miles has abandoned his argument about the wheels and is now lying on his stomach beside Wells, watching him work.

“I couldn’t stay in London and keep pretending none of this mattered,” I say quietly.

Erica follows my gaze.

“The boys.”

“Yes.”

She is silent for a moment.

Then she asks, “Has Ross called?”

“A few times.”

“Recently?”

“He called three days ago.”

Erica watches me.

“You didn’t answer.”

“No.”

“And the texts?”

“They stopped.”

“When?”

“About a week ago.”

Erica leans back slightly.

“That bother you?”

I look at her.

“No.”

She says nothing.