Chapter 3

After leaving base housing, I rented a small room on a side street near town.

During the day, I picked up alterations and mending work — hemming, patching, whatever people brought to the door.

In the evenings, by lamplight, I sewed rag dolls and cloth animals for Tina.

Word got around now and then that Victor handed over most of his allowance to Sandra each month — imported vitamins, new clothes, specialist appointments.

That information passed through me like wind through a screen door.

One evening, I was returning from dropping off a batch of finished alterations when I saw a crowd gathered outside my door.

My stomach dropped. I pushed through.

Inside, the room was destroyed.

My sewing things were scattered everywhere; three garment orders I had taken from base families lay in pieces on the floor.

Sandra stood in the middle of it all, composed and faintly pleased.

"I saw Ellie hiding subversive pamphlets in her sewing basket. She's been working against the base community. Against all of us."

She held up a few crumpled slips of paper.

Two MPs stood near the door, arms folded.

"Ms. Gould. Sandra Harlan has filed a report claiming you concealed prohibited materials on premises. Do you have anything to say?"

The neighbors murmured.

"Can't believe it. She was doing alterations for military families. What was she hiding in there?"

"No wonder Victor Harlan put her out—"

I recognized the play. It was the same one Sandra had run on my parents in my first life — a quiet accusation, a ransacked room, a crowd already half-convinced.

This time I would not freeze.

"What proof do you have?"

Sandra's satisfaction sharpened.

"The room. The papers. What more do you need?"

"Victor Harlan is here!"

Someone called it from the back of the crowd.

Victor pushed through and walked in. His gaze moved across the ruined garments, and then he turned it on me.

"Ellie. Do you understand what you've done?"

Sandra moved quickly to his side, her voice dropping to something wounded.

"Vic, I only came to check on her. I never imagined I'd find — this."

He put a hand briefly on her arm. When he looked back at me, there was no warmth in it.

"Evidence is right in front of us. What is there to argue?"

In my first life, he had looked at me exactly this way. No question. No pause.

Sandra had accused my parents and he had believed her instantly, led the search himself, watched my father's head split on a doorframe and my mother collapse.

"You have no case,"

I said.

"These garments belong to base families. Every order has a receipt with a date, a description, and the customer's signature. The paper trail is complete."

"As for those slips of paper — I'm requesting a handwriting analysis."

Sandra's color shifted.

"That's enough!"

Victor cut across me.

"Ellie, making this official helps no one. Apologize to Sandra, and I'll make this go away."

He had done this before, too. Used my humiliation as currency to keep Sandra calm.

I pulled my arm back and looked at him steadily.

"I have done nothing wrong. I will not apologize for something I didn't do. And I don't need you to make anything go away."

His patience ran out. He pointed at the MPs.

"This is a failure of household conduct and it reflects on my command. Whatever the investigation requires, we'll cooperate fully."