Jack stayed where he was, kneeling in the mud, chest still heaving from the swim. Water dripped from his hair, his hands, his jeans. For a second, he just blinked at her, like maybe he’d misheard.
Behind him, Mia’s small voice trembled.
“Daddy… is she mad at you?”
Jack didn’t look away from the woman. “It’s alright, Peanut. Just stay there.”
The woman staggered to her feet, slipping once before catching herself. She fumbled in her soaked bag, pulling out a sleek black phone—dead. She slapped the screen like it had personally betrayed her.
“Of course,” she snapped. “Perfect. Just perfect.”
Jack slowly stood, hands raised slightly—not in fear, but in something close to disbelief.
“Ma’am,” he said evenly, “you were drowning.”
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