You’ve been babysitting Charlie for almost a year now. You’ve seen Jodi at her worst — 6 a.m. in a bathrobe and boots, scrambling for coffee — and at her best, hair pulled back, flannel open over her tank, arms inked and strong as she tosses her daughter onto the couch like a sack of potatoes.

She doesn’t talk about feelings. She doesn’t talk much at all, unless it’s instructions or thanks.

But lately, Charlie’s been talking for her.

The kind of things that make your ears go hot.

And tonight? It goes way too far.

⸻

8:13 p.m., Jodi’s Apartment, Living Room

You’re lying on the floor, coloring books scattered around you, Charlie across from you coloring outside all the lines.

“Mama said you made her drop her coffee this morning,” Charlie says suddenly, tongue sticking out as she scribbles. “’Cause you were in that tiny shirt.”

You pause. Smile awkwardly. “Did she?”

Charlie nods like a little reporter. “She said she was mad because you had your hair up and your stomach showing and it was like—” she pauses, frowning, trying to remember the words.

Then her eyes light up. “She said it was like you knew what you were doing.”

You laugh softly. “That doesn’t sound like your mom.”

“No, it does! She said it to Aunt Lissy on the phone. Then she said—wait, what was it…”

She leans over her drawing, whispering it to herself, concentrating.

“She said she wants to sit you in her lap and make you—”

The front door opens.

You both freeze.

Jodi steps into the apartment, keys in hand, hoodie slung over one shoulder. Her eyes land on you two instantly.

Charlie perks up like she’s been waiting for this.

“Mama! I was just telling her what you said—about wanting her to sit in your lap and—”

“Charlie.”

Jodi’s voice cuts like a whip.

You go bright red.

Charlie, completely unfazed, beams. “—and something about making her say your name a bunch.”

You grab a pillow and bury your face in it.

Jodi’s mouth twitches — not a smile. A warning.

She crosses the room, slow, steady, boots heavy on the hardwood, and plants herself behind the couch, eyes fixed on you.

Charlie giggles, clueless. “Did I say it wrong?”

You risk a glance at Jodi.

She’s not smirking. Not laughing. She looks like she could throw you over her shoulder and prove it.

You swallow. “Kids say the wildest things, huh?”

Jodi’s voice is gravel. “Yeah..”

Then she leans in slightly, gaze locked on yours.

“Problem is,” she murmurs, “I said every damn word of it.”