Chapter 7

Josephine held her daughter's hand and walked away.

Julie glanced back and gave Julian a small wave.

A colleague strolled over, grinning. "Relative's kid? That girl looks a lot like you. Good genes in the family, huh?"

"Does she?" Julian raised an eyebrow.

When he looked up again, Josephine and the girl were already out of sight.

If he really had a daughter that age, his mother would probably lose her mind with joy. The thought alone was absurd.

Still, the girl was… cute.

Julian thought of Julie. A faint, unplaceable feeling stirred in his chest.

…

On the way home.

"Mom," Julie said, "Potato is still in that doctor's car."

"Potato?" Josephine blinked before remembering the milk-colored puppy her daughter had rescued in the middle of traffic. The memory of that near miss made her face harden.

"Julie, you can't put yourself in danger like that again."

"I know, but he wasn't driving fast. He didn't hit me. I got scared and fell by myself."

"Still not okay." Josephine reached out and smoothed her daughter's hair.

"But Mom, Potato's still with the doctor who looks like Dad."

"Julie," Josephine's voice grew taut. "You mustn't say that. We can't let anyone else know he looks like your father. If he hears that… he might be upset. We need to respect people, alright?"

Her words tangled themselves. She was trying to explain, but even she didn't know what she was saying anymore. Thankfully, Julie just nodded obediently.

Josephine picked Julie up and held her close.

Lying felt like pulling at a knotted skein of yarn—only the more you tried to untangle it, the worse it became.

She couldn't go back and ask Julian for the puppy. Not with her living in Stella's place—an old building where noise traveled easily. A barking puppy would upset the neighbors.

She doubted Julian hated dogs. Though, he didn't exactly strike her as warm-hearted either.

She'd once cradled a half-frozen stray, hoping he might take it in for the winter. He'd coldly refused.

Julian was only ever different in bed. Otherwise, he was detached, polite to a fault, sometimes even sharp-tongued.

"Julie, after your surgery, when you're healthy again, I'll work hard so we can get our own place. Then, we can raise a dog together, okay?"

"But it won't be Potato," her daughter said.

Her voice was small, but the words landed like needles in Josephine's chest.

…

It was nine at night. Josephine sat with Julie, helping her with a school project.

Julie drew a round, chubby dog on the paper—her imagined Potato.

Josephine couldn't help it. She took out her phone, found the business card, and dialed Julian's number.

She was going to ask him for the dog.

It was probably his work number.

In seven years, this was only the second time she'd called him. The first was six years ago. She'd been lying in a hospital bed, weak and bleeding. In the dead of night, she dialed his number.

He picked up and said, "Hello? Who is this?"

His voice was all it took. She hung up without a word.

Now, she stood on the balcony, watching her six-year-old daughter sit on the sofa, eyes on the television.

She closed the door behind her. Leaning back against it, her frame slight and tense, she stared at the screen, hesitating.

Then she pressed the call button.

It rang three times.

Then someone picked up.

A woman's voice answered. She sounded gentle and pleasant. "Hi, are you looking for Julian?"

Josephine froze. Her blood turned cold. Fingers clenched around the phone, her throat constricted.

"Hello?" the woman repeated. Once, twice.

Josephine finally found her voice. "Sorry. Wrong number."

"No, it's not. You're looking for Julian, right? He's in the shower. I'll have him call you back."

The call ended before she could say anything else.

Josephine slowly slid down until she was crouched, back against the door.

It was 9 p.m.

That woman on the phone… was she his girlfriend?

Of course she was.

With a face like his, a background like his, there would never be a shortage of women around him.

Josephine took a deep breath. Her pale face held a faint trace of fatigue as she sat by the door, lifting her gaze toward the moonlight spilling through the window.

She knew she shouldn't pay so much attention to Julian's world.

Seven years had already passed.

Their lives existed in entirely separate universes.

He probably didn't even remember someone like Phoebe anymore. Or maybe, to someone like him, having once dated a chubby girl had been nothing but a blemish, a shameful stain on his otherwise pristine life.

If she hadn't used Sabrina Faulkner to threaten him back then, would he have ever agreed to be with her?

Her grip tightened on the door handle as she stood. Her knuckles whitened. Eyes closed, she steadied her breath. The dizziness hit first, followed by the weakness in her legs.

After giving birth, she had lost weight. And with that, came the persistent low blood sugar. It flared up when she was exhausted or stressed—like now.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed in her hand.

She looked down.

The number flashing on the screen was the same one from earlier.

Julian was calling her back.

The vibrations numbed her hand. Josephine stared at the number, unmoving.

She drew in another breath and answered.

…

On the third floor of the Faulkner residence, Julian had just finished his shower.

He wore a black silk robe, his short hair still dripping. His expression was cool and unreadable as he glanced at the little milk-colored puppy sprawled on the floor, making soft sounds as it lapped milk from a bowl.

He walked over, phone to his ear, and picked up the puppy just as it was about to crawl into the bowl itself.

"Hey. Who is this? Why did you call me?"

Rosalyn rolled her eyes. "Be more gentle! How could you be so rough?"

She walked over and scooped the puppy from his hands, cradling it gently.

Josephine heard the woman's voice on the other end of the line. The words she'd meant to say caught in her throat. He was flirting. Or maybe in bed with his girlfriend, answering a call mid-way through.

Her face turned pale, then flushed. Her lips pressed into a bloodless line.

"If you have something to say, say it." Julian hadn't hung up. His tone remained indifferent, assuming the call was from a patient. This number stayed on 24/7.

"It's me," she said. "Dr. Faulkner… I think my daughter's dog might be in your car."

The softness in her voice made him pause. He wasn't sure if it was because he'd been thinking about Phoebe lately, but the voice sounded strangely familiar.

"Yeah. It's here."

"Would tomorrow be okay, Dr. Faulkner? Maybe we could meet somewhere? My daughter… she really likes that dog."

"Next week," he said. "I'll be in Anson City tomorrow. I'll contact you when I'm back."

"All right." She pressed her lips together. "Thank you."

She was about to hang up when his voice came again, "What's your name? I'll save your number."

"Josephine."

"Could you repeat that?" he asked, suddenly not hearing clearly.

Rosalyn shot her brother a look and rolled her eyes. "She said her name's Josephine, you idiot."

Josephine could hear the woman's playful scolding through the phone. She could picture her—a delicate, well-bred daughter of some prominent family.

She hung up.

Running away wasn't shameful.

At least right now, it was necessary.