"When are you going to talk to her?" I ask.
"As soon as possible," Michael replies. "The sooner, the better."
I bite my lower lip as anxiety creep in. "Do you think she'll try to push me away?"
Michael's eyes softens as he shook his head. "No. She might not love the idea of us, but she knows I care about you. She won't try to interfere. Not now."
I nod my head, though I'm not entirely convinced. Still, I trust Michael's judgment. He knows his stepmother better than anyone.
"Okay," i say softly.
Michael's fingers drum restlessly against the oak desk in his office, his mind in turmoil. The sun has barely risen, casting a soft glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but sleep had eluded him. He sits there, staring at the phone in front of him, debating whether to make the call.
