“I am,” I said. “She helped us when it mattered. She recorded the call. That is enough.”
I rubbed my gold wedding ring against my knuckle, feeling the smooth metal.
“What about Mark?” she asked.
“The federal prosecutors are handling him now,” I said. “There is no way out for him.”
She nodded once, a simple, decisive movement. “Good. Let him go.”
She picked up the blue fleece blanket from the chair and folded it into a tight square, pushing it down into the main compartment of the diaper bag.
Liam let out a small, demanding cry from his sleeper in the living room.
“He is ready,” Maya said.
I zipped the bag closed and slung the heavy strap over my shoulder.
The walk down Seventh Avenue was slow, matching Maya’s gentle pace.
The air was cold and sharp, biting at our cheeks, but the winter sun was bright enough to melt the ice on the concrete steps of the brownstones.
