POV Noelle
When I open the door and see Jamie standing there, the air goes still. She’s thinner, paler. Her lipstick’s smudged, and her eyes dart everywhere except at me. She looks like she’s come straight from a storm—and maybe she has.
“Noelle,” she whispers, voice breaking. “Please don’t shut the door.”
I cross my arms. “Why shouldn’t I?”
She flinches. “Because I made a mistake.”
My throat tightens. “Which one, Jamie? Leaving without a word when the press started swarming us, or something new?”
Her fingers tremble on the strap of her purse. “Something new.”
Behind me, Luna stirs in her crib, letting out a tiny sigh. I turn halfway toward the nursery before looking back at Jamie. “Say it. Whatever it is, say it now.”
Her chin wobbles. “It’s Daniel.”
My stomach drops. “Your boyfriend.”
She nods, and the next words rip the air apart. “He sold the nursery footage.”
For a heartbeat, I can’t breathe. “What footage?”
“The—” Her voice cracks. “The camera we set up for Luna’s sleeping schedule. The one linked to the app.”
I grab the doorframe for balance. “Jamie, tell me you’re lying.”
“I wish I was.” Tears spill down her cheeks. “He said he was just selling data, not video. He didn’t tell me until it was too late.”
The sound that escapes me is somewhere between a gasp and a growl. “You brought a man into my home who sold videos of my daughter sleeping?”
Jamie sobs, shaking her head violently. “I swear, I didn’t know! I broke up with him—I came straight here. Please, you have to believe me.”
“Believe you?” I take a step forward, my voice trembling with fury. “I let you feed her, bathe her, rock her to sleep. You had access to every corner of her life. And you handed it to someone who saw her as money.”
“I didn’t hand it to him!” she screams, her voice raw. “He stole it! He hacked my login—”
The crack echoes before I realize what I’ve done. My palm burns. Her head jerks sideways from the slap, strands of hair flying loose.
We both freeze. She touches her cheek slowly, eyes wide with shock—and shame. “I deserve that.”
The rage drains out of me so fast it leaves me dizzy. She shakes her head. “No. I deserve worse.”
The silence after that is deafening. Only Luna’s soft breathing fills it, until—a high, terrified wail pierces the air. Luna’s awake.
I stumble toward the nursery, the sound slicing through every nerve I have. She’s sitting up, face red, tiny fists flailing. I scoop her into my arms, murmuring nonsense words, anything to calm her.
“Shh, baby, mama’s here. Mama’s right here.”
But she doesn’t stop. The crying turns into screaming—the kind that feels like she’s choking on her own fear.
Jamie appears in the doorway, tears still streaking down her face. “She can feel it,” she whispers. “She can feel what’s happening.”
“Stay back,” I warn, bouncing Luna gently.
Jamie steps forward anyway, hands trembling. “Noelle, let me help.”
“I said stay back!”
But Luna’s cries only grow louder, shaking her whole tiny body. My throat tightens with panic. “She won’t stop—she won’t—”
Jamie rushes forward before I can stop her, wrapping her arms around both of us. “Let me,” she says through tears. “Just for a second.”
And somehow, Luna’s cries falter. Her sobs turn into soft hiccups, her small hand clutching the edge of Jamie’s sleeve. The three of us stand there, pressed together in the quiet chaos—me trembling, Luna panting softly against my chest, Jamie crying into my shoulder.
I want to push her away again. I want to scream, to rage, to call every contact I have and erase every trace of what her boyfriend did. But instead, I feel her shaking and realize we’re both breaking in the same place.
When Luna finally drifts back to sleep, her face damp against my neck, I whisper, “You should go.”
Jamie sniffles. “I can’t—not like this.”
“Jamie—”
“Noelle, please.” Her voice cracks open. “I didn’t come here for forgiveness. I came because I didn’t know where else to go. They’re saying I helped him. They think I was part of it.”
I stare at her, my pulse pounding. “Were you?”
Her eyes widen with hurt. “No! I swear on her life.”
That makes me flinch. “Don’t you dare swear on her.”
“I mean it,” she insists. “I never touched those files. He copied them while I was asleep. He said it was just ‘tech stuff.’ I didn’t even know he had access until someone messaged me a link.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Probably one of those tabloids that camp outside the building.” She wipes her eyes roughly. “They offered me money for an interview. I turned it down.”
I press a hand to my forehead, the anger morphing into exhaustion. “Rhea’s going to lose it when she finds out.”
“I’ll tell her myself,” Jamie says quietly. “Whatever happens, I’ll take it.”
“You might have to,” I whisper. “Owen’s already hanging by a thread with the DA. This… this could push him off.”
Her voice shakes. “He’ll hate me forever.”
I look down at Luna, her tiny lashes still wet, her little hand curled around my finger. “He won’t hate you,” I say slowly. “But he’ll never trust you again.”
Jamie’s lip trembles. “Do you?”
I don’t answer. She drops her gaze and the silence stretches. The clock ticks once, twice, a reminder of how fragile peace is in this house. Then I hear myself say, “You’re staying here tonight.”
Her head jerks up. “What?”
“You’ll sleep in the guest room. Tomorrow, Rhea will handle the rest. But I’m not letting you walk out into the street when people might be hunting your name.”
Tears spill again. “You should hate me.”
“I do,” I whisper. “But I still remember the night you stayed up with me when I was bleeding after Luna’s birth. You sang until I fell asleep. So maybe hate and love just coexist now.”
She laughs weakly. “That sounds like you.”
I manage a tiny smile. “It sounds like all of us.”
Jamie looks at the floor. “If I could undo it—”
“You can’t,” I cut in gently. “That’s the problem with damage. You can clean it, you can patch it, but it never stops bleeding somewhere.”
Her eyes fill again. “I’m sorry, Noelle. I really am.”
I nod, too tired to say more. “I know.”
We stand there for a while, both of us staring at the crib where Luna sleeps again—her innocence glowing like something none of us deserve. Finally, I reach out and touch Jamie’s arm. “We’ll get through this,” I whisper. “But it won’t be the same.”
She nods. I pull her into a hug—because even if forgiveness is impossible, comfort isn’t. She clings to me like she’s drowning, and for a moment, I hold her like I believe we’ll both float.
When I finally let go, the world feels quieter. But not cleaner.
There’s still a stain in the air—a reminder of trust broken, of privacy sold, of innocence exposed to strangers behind screens.
Jamie whispers, “Thank you.”
I look at her—red eyes, trembling hands, guilt written in every line of her face. “Don’t thank me,” I say softly. “Just never let me find another camera I didn’t set.”