58. The Collapse

The silence in the room is deafening. 

“Excuse me?” 

Miranda’s voice is a harsh whisper. She’s stopped her pacing and is staring at me with a storm of emotion on her face. 

I keep my face blank. 

“I quit,” I repeat, forcing the words to come out clear and past the lump already forming in my throat. 

Miranda blinks once. Slowly. 

“You did not just say that.” Her voice still hasn’t risen above that whispy, lethal tone. “You have one more chance to take it back, Andrea, or I swear to God–”

“Miranda, I have to–” 

“Wrong answer.”

With a sharp turn on her heel, she stalks to her desk. She lowers herself gracefully into the seat, her eyes not leaving mine while she does. 

“Sit.” The command comes out clipped, and my body automatically jumps to obey. I wish my body would obey me half as well, as a rebel tear wells up and starts its treacherous glide down my cheek. 

I refuse to wipe it away. To acknowledge it. 

Sitting across from her, I open my mouth to explain, to somehow salvage this. It will only work if she understands and gets on board with the plan. But she holds up one hand to wave away my words before they can even form. 

“I take it this is your idea of a formal resignation?” She’s turned to the side, staring at the wall, but her eyes flick to mine and away. God, the fury in them makes the hair on my arms stand on end. 

“Yes,” is all I can manage to whisper. 

With a sharp exhale, she turns back to face the desk, pulling a paper toward her and uncapping a pen. I can’t make out her determined scribbles. 

“No.”

It’s my turn to blink. 

“No?” I croak, slipping in my fight to keep the emotion out of my voice. I clear my throat and repeat, “No?” 

“I’m sitting three feet away from you, Andrea.” Miranda’s voice is almost back to normal, brisk with only a mild threat of sharpness. “If you can’t hear me from there, I suggest you make an appointment with an audiologist.” 

She hasn’t paused in her scribbling. 

“Miranda,” I try again. “You have to see, this is the only way–”

“I most certainly do not,” she interrupts me. Again. “There are many things in this life I ‘have to’ do, but sit here and listen to you ramble on about how your self-sabotage is the only solution to our problems is not one of them. The answer,” she pauses, tilting her head at something she’s written on the paper, then continues writing. “Is ‘no.’”

With a final flourish of her pen, she caps it and sets it aside. Leaning back, arms crossed over her chest, she captures my gaze in her steely one. 

“With that foolishness out of the way, we can focus on a real solution.” 

“Maybe you don’t want to hear it,” I hedge. I refuse to let her ignore the best strategy we’ve got. “But they’ve painted you into a corner. And they used me to do it.” 

My voice hitches on the last word, but I swallow and plow on. Miranda’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t interrupt this time. 

 “You can’t sign that custody adjustment. We’ve both seen how miserable the girls are every time they have to go to him and play happy home with ‘Mommy Bri.’” 

Miranda just raises an eyebrow, daring me to continue. 

“And it won’t be temporary. Di–” I barely catch myself before my nickname for the girls’ father slips out. “Richard,” I correct. “Has been delaying proceedings since the very beginning. If you sign, he’ll keep things moving at a glacial pace and use it as some sort of proof that the girls are more stable under his custody, that the arrangement has been working for months.” 

Those pre-law courses from college sure are coming in handy now. Part of me wishes I couldn’t see the pieces laid out on the chessboard quite so clearly. 

“You can’t sign,” I repeat, a little stronger now. “And that means the photos are going to be released.” 

“Do you think I am somehow incapable of coming to such a basic conclusion?” Miranda asks, eyes narrowed and head slightly tilted. Neon ‘danger’ signs practically light up around her. 

“No,” I try to backtrack without losing any of my hard-won ground. “But I do think you don’t want to be stuck with only Lark and some newbie just a few months before Paris.” 

I try for a smile. It comes out wobbly. 

“It won’t be so bad,” I say soothingly. “At least not compared to losing the girls.”

Miranda leans back in her chair, her gaze still not breaking away from mine, and crosses one leg over the other. 

“And you believe that somehow your lack of presence by my side will erase the story Richard will tell with those photos? Really, Andrea, you must be brighter than that.”

I flick my eyes to the side, suddenly somehow more uncomfortable. 

“Not completely,” I agree, hesitating. “But it will give you some wiggle room, narratively. Especially if …” I’m not sure I can tell her the key part of the plan. Not without breaking down. 

“If?” Miranda won’t let me off that easily. 

Taking a deep breath, I rally my strength, and force myself to meet Miranda’s eyes again. 

“If we take control of the narrative before the photos are leaked.” My fingers clench around the arms of the chair. “We make the announcement, tonight, that I was fired. Cite inappropriate conduct, a lack of respect for boundaries, creepy stalking, whatever it takes to explain the photos but leave your reputation clean.”

Miranda’s fingers, which had been tapping impatiently against one forearm, freeze. Her pursed lips part slightly. In disbelief? Incredulity? I can’t tell. 

I lean forward, grabbing the edge of the glass desk with my fingers. 

“It’s the best solution,” I push. “You know it is.”

I only realize her eyes had softened at some point when they flash again with fire. 

“Reputational suicide,” Miranda muses. A nearly cruel smirk twists her lips. “I should have known you’d resort to martyrdom. It’s so … predictable.”

It’s my turn to glare at her. 

“Maybe,” I bite out. “But it’ll also work.”

Miranda just rolls her eyes and dismisses my words with a wave of her hand. 

“And once you’ve enacted this dramatic sacrifice," she drawls. “What will you do then? You’ll be finished in New York. In any major city.”

I shrug one shoulder. “Change my name and dye my hair? I’ve passed the LSAT before. I can do it again.”

Miranda tilts her head toward the ceiling. 

“Foolish girl,” she whispers. 

A flash of anger fires through my veins. 

“Yes,” I snark. “God forbid I try to help you. I’ve been trying to help you through this disaster of a custody battle since day one, and you know what? It’s worth it. If I have to walk away in shame so you don’t lose the girls–”

A sharp, pained laugh escapes from Miranda’s lips, halting me in my tracks. 

“Foolish girl,” she repeats, shaking her head with a bitter smile, before turning back to face me. In an instant, her face goes hard. 

“I will lose them.”

That has me slamming into the back of my seat. 

“What?” I manage to ask. I can’t stop the shock from taking over my expression. 

“It’s inevitable,” she says, her voice void of emotion. “Eventually, I lose everyone. Every family, every husband, and every colleague. There have only been a few friends, but even they weren’t immune. At some point, they either walk away, fed up with my life and their place in it, or they’re driven away. So many people are obsessed with fame, but when they finally spend a few moments in the spotlight?” She shrugs. “It’s always the same. Inevitable. Even the girls–” 

Her voice hitches, but she takes a moment to close her eyes. Breathe. And continues. 

“Even the girls will leave me. It won’t be now, or in a year, but eventually they’ll grow up. They’ll  move away, and have their own lives. That’s how it should be. But I’ll still lose them.”

The distant sadness in her eyes evaporates as her eyes snap to mine once more. I find myself captive, tied to my chair. 

“I lose everyone. Eventually.” Her eyes are hard with determination. “I’ve lived on hope, but clearly that isn’t working. I should have known. After all, if you want something, you can’t simply wait and hope it comes to you. You have to take it.”

My brows furrow in confusion. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Miranda leans forward, arms folded on the desk, her attention focused solely on me. 

“I’ve lost a lot, Andrea, and I know I’ll lose more. I’ve made my peace with it. But you …” Her voice somehow softens and hardens with determination at the same time, and I can’t escape the icy fire in her eyes. 

“Not you. Every other person on this god forsaken planet can walk away, and I’ll let them go. But not you. I refuse to let you go. You’re mine.”

As steely as her speech is, that last word slips out like a desperate plea. 

For a moment, all I can do is stare at her, mouth dropped open, eyes wide like a gasping fish. But she doesn’t look away. Or back down. No, she holds my gaze, the swirling blue of her eyes disguising her begging as a command. 

That damned puddle of hope in my chest, the one that’s refused to die, swells and takes over my entire body. I’m so full of hope that it starts leaking out of my eyes. 

I lean forward, both hands stretched out, grabbing one of hers in both of mine. 

“I wish,” I choke. “God damnit, I wish. But I can’t be the reason you lose the girls. Not even for a moment. I just can’t, Miranda.” 

The sobs I’ve been holding back for too long finally force their way out. I crumble in on myself, but I can’t make myself let go of Miranda’s hand. 

She doesn’t let go either, not in any of the time it takes her to round the desk and come to my side. She pulls my shaking body out of the chair and wraps me in her arms. The embrace is tight, like she’s holding me together with sheer force of will. I hold on just as tightly. I know I’ll have to let go, soon, but just … not yet. 

Her hand comes up to stroke my hair, pressing my face into the curve of her neck as I sob. 

“I won’t lose you,” she whispers against my hair. “I can’t.”

I can’t speak past my sobs, but eventually I manage to push out a single, “How?” 

I feel her lips curve into a small smile. 

“You’re not the only one who can do the impossible.”