The woman on the other end is professionally sympathetic, checking the calendar while I grip the phone tighter. "We can see you tomorrow at two, Ms. Harrelson. Are you familiar with where we are?"
"On Cedar and Main, right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'll be there. Thank you."
The moment I hang up, something shifts inside me. My spine straightens, my jaw hardens. For the first time since finding that document last night, it doesn't feel like drowning. I'm still completely overwhelmed and angry. But now I have at least something to hold onto.
Mom studies me, her eyes soft but steady. “Promise me you’ll wait until after you talk to Nicole before you go to Warren. Protect yourself first. I don’t believe he’d hurt you, but he is an attorney. You need someone on your side.”
I nod, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye.
Sliding my phone into my pocket, I feel a strange calm settle over me. For a moment, I’m steady. Resolved. Then my phone vibrates against my thigh, shattering the fragile peace.
Warren’s name glows on the screen. The message is simple.
Can I bring takeout over for the three of us tonight?
My throat locks. Yesterday, those words would’ve made me smile, warmed me all the way through. The man I love wants to spend another night with me and our son.
Now they slice me open.
How dare he? How fucking dare he act like everything’s normal while drafting a custody petition behind my back. My mom says he wouldn’t hurt me, and God, I wantto believe that. But right now? I don’t trust a word out of his mouth.
I set the phone face down on the table with deliberate slowness, refusing to let my fingers type a response. The screen goes dark.
"Warren?" Mom asks softly from across the table.
I nod once, my jaw gripping so tightly it aches.
She doesn't press further. The silence stretches between us, thick with everything I can't bring myself to say.
Outside, a car door slams. Birds chatter in the oak tree by the window. Life continues its relentless forward march while mine's frozen in this moment of betrayal, on hold until I talk to the attorney tomorrow.
“I should’ve known better. I should’ve protected Beckett more carefully.”
“Honey.” Mom’s voice cuts in gently, but firmly. “Please don’t jump to conclusions. Talk to Nicole. Get the facts first. I don't think having a formal custody arrangement is a bad thing. Maybe you two can still make it work after the dust settles.”
My phone tumps again. I ignore it.
Mom stays at the table, watching me with those eyes that have carried me through every storm. “You know I love Warren, too,” she says quietly. “I’ve always thought he was good for you, and I still don’t believe he’d ever set out to hurt you. But right now, I love you and Beckett more. My advice comes from that place.”
The words splinter something in me. Because if even my mom, who has always defended him, thinks I need a lawyer, then maybe this really is as bad as I fear.
I stand, needing to stretch my legs, and brace my hands against the counter. I stare out at the backyard at the fire pit where this all started.
“I don’t think I can come back from this, Mom. Even if it is completely innocent, like you say.”
The words don’t tremble. They don’t waver. They’re final, solid things dropping into the universe. Right now, I hate him. And hating him feels safer than wanting him ever again.
THIRTY
Warren
The office lies silent around me, the early morning light barely filtering through the blinds.
I stare at my phone in my palm as I scroll through the string of one-sided texts I've sent Janie over the last several days. Each one stares back, the blue bubbles taunting me with their lack of response.