Chapter 3

The passport sat on the floor for a long moment. Everyone looked at it, the small blue object that had caused all this trouble, and nobody moved. It was Brooke's hand that finally twitched toward it, but Denise's voice stopped her cold.

"Leave it. Security will collect it."

Brooke's hand froze mid-air. Her face had gone through panic and into something that looked almost like grief, the mask of entitlement cracking around the edges. "I— it's mine. I mean, it's— I can just give it back—"

"You've had multiple opportunities to do that." Denise's voice was not unkind, but it was firm. "This is no longer a family matter. It's an airport security matter." She pushed a button on her phone, and the PA system overhead crackled to life. "Security team to check-in desk seven."

The crowd that had gathered murmured. The woman in the red puffer jacket zoomed in, and Maggie watched Brooke's face fill the screen—her pinched mouth, her rabbit-bright eyes, the way her hands kept fluttering toward her pocket as if the passport were still there.

"You filmed it." The words came out of Maggie's mouth without her permission. She turned to the woman. "From the beginning. You saw her take it."

The red puffer jacket woman lowered her phone. She was perhaps fifty, with a sharp face and an expression that said she'd seen a lot of things in her life and this was nowhere near the strangest. "I saw the whole thing. She reached into your hand and took it. Clear as day."

"Ma'am," Denise said, "could you hold on to that footage? Security will need to review it."

The woman nodded. "I'm not going anywhere." She raised her phone again, and this time, the lens was pointed at Brooke, steady and recording.

Something in Brooke seemed to collapse. Not physically—she was still standing, still perfectly tailored, still beautiful with her dark hair and her gold chain. But her shoulders dropped, and her voice came out small. "I didn't think— I didn't think it would be a big deal. I just wanted her to stay home. That's all. I wanted one trip, one trip without her."

The words hung in the air. Maggie felt them land, heavy and ugly, and somewhere behind her, she heard a stranger murmur, "That's so messed up."

"One trip without her," Richard repeated. His voice was hollow. "Brooke. We planned this trip together. All three of us. You said you were happy about it."

"I lied." Brooke's voice cracked. The tears that came were real, not the theatrical weeping she used to get out of trouble, but stark and sudden. "I wanted it to be just us. Just our family. Like it was before she came."