Diane's POV
The drive home from the warehouse felt surreal, as if I were watching myself from outside my body. My hands, steady on the steering wheel, betrayed nothing of the storm raging inside me. What had I become? The woman who'd walked into that warehouse wasn't the same one driving away from it.
I pulled into Joan's driveway and sat for a moment, collecting myself. The twins kicked vigorously, as if sensing my turmoil. I placed a hand on my swollen belly.
"We're going to be okay," I whispered. "Mommy's got this."
I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror, ensuring no trace of the morning's events remained on my face. Satisfied with what I saw—a composed, if tired, pregnant woman—I made my way inside.
Mom was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for what smelled like her famous vegetable soup. Joan sat at the island counter, laptop open, fingers flying across the keyboard.
