“WHAT?” Charles staggered back as though the word itself had struck him.

Shantel didn’t flinch.

“I said,” she repeated evenly, “Sunshine is alive.”

The room felt too small. Too tight.

His ears rang.

“You are sick,” he whispered. “You are actually sick.”

“I’m not.”

“You told me she died!” he roared suddenly. “You said she died, Shantel!”

She looked away briefly, jaw tightening.

“You sent me a message,” he continued, voice breaking despite his anger. “You said she didn’t survive the illness. You said there was no money for treatment. You said you buried her.”

“I know what I said.”

“So you made me mourn my child!” he exploded. “I...