But the flash bulbs were already firing off outside, sending bursts of seizure-inducing light into the house. Delphine raced over and slammed the door against the horde of camera operators and reporters camped out on her lawn. You can't go out there. Delphine insisted. Just hiding house like a mouse. Helena chided from the phone. Like bloody hell I will. Sarah said, heading for the stairs. Delphine grabbed her jacket.

Where are you going?

Sarah twisted out of her grasp. Don't worry. I'll roof hop to the end of the block and climb down. They won't see me. You're not the only one, Sarah. We're screwed to Delphine's spat. Our faces, my career, my marriage is in that expose. Cosimo was kidnapped from police custody. Everyone will find out she was charged with terrorism. Then what? Death threats? Biggits will smash our windows? Even if my lawyers do find her weird trapped. She teared up. This isn't square one. This is worse. But like the last time we have to stick together, we can't get reckless. We're on display. The government is upping biometric security. And that clone hotline is just a witch hunt. Staying away from Kira is the best thing you could do for her. Your face could get you both strapped to a table in a lab. Or thrown down a well by 46 pure. Sarah couldn't deny what Delphine was saying. She wanted to protect her daughter, but she was an even bigger liability now. Kira was better off without her. Who the F did this to us? Donnie blurted from the coffee table. Bitch, Rachel. Helena offered? I don't know. Delphine was unconvinced. Why would Rachel put herself in a fishbowl again after living in Dayan most of our life? Maybe that new Lita, the redhead at the airport, did this. Donnie offered? Why? Art said she is CIA. Public face is death sentence for spy. Helena reasoned. Nathaniel Sturgis, the geneticist that interviewed Cosima, Delphine thought aloud. He knew about the Lita program, about Dayat. Whoever told him could have told the press. Sarah was spiraling deeper and deeper. A ball of questions and emotions caught in her throat. It had taken five years of therapy and antidepressants just to fade the Neelution Scars. She could finally sleep through the night without flashbacks and have been holding down a job as a forklift operator. She and Cal weren't even fighting anymore. But now the new leaf she had turned seemed to be withering. Onita bear, she croaked. Grabbing a microbrew and a handful of Cosima's THC truffles, Sarah locked herself in the bathroom. She scarf down the chocolates. As she waited for the THC to release some of the tension laced throughout her body, she typed a text, secura. Watch news. We are under attack. It's not a secret anymore. We don't know who did it or what will happen next. Tell me you're safe and I'll leave you alone. Please. Sarah waited. No response. Not even three little dots contemplating one. This was all her fault. She never called Mrs. S when she ran away. Maybe Kira was mimicking all her behavioral shit. Maybe it was in her genes. Maybe the stability she failed to provide during her daughter's childhood was catching up. A severely delayed pang of regret hit Sarah and an even bigger lump formed in her throat. If she had been a different person, none of this would be happening. She wouldn't be such a risk to her daughter. She knew Kira was safer on her own now and that she had to let go. She was just hoping that pot troubles would loosen her grip.

The Hello my name is Alison Larkin and I'm a writer comedian and narrator and host of The Jane Austin podcast. This podcast brings Jane Austen's stories to the 21st century along with commentary from me and conversations with fascinating people who all share a love of Jane Austen. And of course we have to start with none other than pride and prejudice. So join me as we embark on a journey through some of the most wonderful stories I know. The Jane Austen Podcast with Alison Larkin is available wherever you listen to podcasts.