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“Apparently beyond fucking stupid,” I whispered.

The room remained silent. At least for three whole seconds. Then came the soft thump of four paws hitting the comforter. I cracked one eye open. Phineas stood at the edge of the bed, staring at me. His ears flicked forward. For a moment, neither of us moved.

“Be nice.”

The cat blinked. The comforter dipped beneath his weight as he made his way toward me, like an old man crossing a busy street. A fresh tear slipped down my cheek.

“You decided I’ve suffered enough for one day, huh?”

He circled twice before settling directly against my stomach. I froze. The pressure wasn’t heavy. Barely anything at all. Still, my breath caught. The silly cat stretched, released a dramatic sigh, and began purring.

The sound vibrated through the blankets. Warm and comforting. My fingers drifted into his fur, and his purr grew louder.

“I knew I made the best choice when I picked you.”

The hours that followed blurred together. I cried myself empty. And once no more tears were left, I stared at the ceiling. The house continued on around me. Doors opened and closed. Tori even came to check on me at one point. I pretended to be asleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Pasha. Broken and lost. I could still hear the echoes of his voice cracking when he admitted he wanted the baby. The way he’d agreed to keep this a secret. The way he agreed to go with me to the appointment.

Eventually, exhaustion dragged me under and, with it, blessed nothingness. But when I woke, the storm of emotions rushed back in. I rolled onto my side and squeezed my eyes shut. Then onto my back. Then onto my other side.

Nothing helped. I couldn’t find a comfortable spot. The same thoughts circled endlessly. Every aspect, every angle, every choice I contemplated left me confused.

I forced myself to sit up. The room spun briefly. I couldn’t stay in bed all day. Someone aside from Tori would eventually come looking for me, and if they did, I’d probably break down all over again. And I still needed to make the appointment.

Sooner rather than later.

Inside the bathroom, I washed my face and ran a brush through my hair. My eyes landed on the rubbish bin. If the maids emptied it, they’d know the truth. I couldn’t risk it. I fished the box, instructions, and the used test out.

After hiding it and the bag with a bazillion unused pregnancy tests under my bathroom sink, I slipped from my room. Quietly, I sneaked down the hall and to the wing of the house where my art studio was.

I needed to keep myself from drowning in my thoughts. The moment I stepped inside, I locked the door behind me. The click of the latch echoed through the room. And for the first time all day, I could actually breathe.

Everyone knew the rules. A locked studio door meant—leave me alone. No bothering me with questions. No interruptions. Just leave me in the silence of my work. My gaze drifted toward the suitcase. I knelt beside it and unzipped the compartment slowly.

The dolls waited exactly where I’d left them. The four seasons remained carefully wrapped on the right-hand side. I didn’t have the heart to separate X from the others in her group, but I had used the same cloth as ours to distinguish her doll from theirs.

My hands shook as I reached for her. It was time. My fingers memorized the shape through the heavy fabric before I unrolled it. With a ragged exhale, I turned her face up.

With the linen peeled back, the first thing to catch the pale studio light was the flawless gleam of porcelain. The stiff heavy folds of emerald green velvet from her gown rustled between my fingers.

I traced the smooth curve of its cheek. One glass eye stared back at me, a vibrant, piercing color that matched the dress. Its mask beckoned me. Decorative as well as discreet. It was black and gold.

A tear slipped from my chin, splashing onto her face. My fingers trembled as I caressed the elaborate braid. I froze. Suddenly, I wasn’t standing in my studio any more.

I was ten years old again. Sitting beneath the large oak tree near the edge of the yard.

Autumn

The warmth of the afternoon sun soaked into my skin. A soft breeze stirred the leaves overhead. Scattered patches of light and shadow fell across the freshly cut grass.

For once, the grounds looked almost normal. The Collector had spent the better part of the month tending to the property, mowing the lawn and trimming back the overgrown hedges.

He’d even had the carousel refinished. The chips were still there but it looked a little more cheerful. It probably meant pictures were coming soon. They often did things like this when they wanted to do candid shots of us.

My sketchbook rested forgotten in my lap as I looked up. X had stopped the swing. Winter sat upon it, her hands wrapped tightly around the chains. Her brows furrowed as she looked at the woman standing in front of her.

X held out her hand.