“Then we’ll defuse them. I’ll file a response with a proposed structure: supervised, incremental, contingent on consistency. We’ll attach the school records, counseling notes, your documented attempts to arrange contact in the past.”
My jaw ticks. “She didn’t say goodbye to Bri when she left. You put that in bold.”
“It will be in bold, underlined, and highlighted,” Ryan assures me. “Breathe. We’ve got this.”
I force air in and out. “Send me drafts tonight, if you can.”
“You’ll have them. But Worth, you need to prepare yourself,” Ryan says slowly. “This isn’t just about her sudden reappearance. It’s about how the court is going to perceive you. Custody cases live and die on perception, not just facts.”
I scowl. “Perception?”
“Yes. Your reputation. The way the media frames you. To the public eye—and therefore to a judge—you look like a man who rotates women like cufflinks. There are tabloid spreads, photos of you on yachts, gala after gala with different women. It paints a picture of… instability, even if that’s not the truth.”
My hand curls into a fist. “I’ve raised Brianna alone for ten years. Where the hell is the instability in that?”
“I know that.Youknow that. But a judge won’t look at the day-to-day reality of your parenting. They’ll hear Vanessa spin a narrative that you’re distracted, unreliable, too busy parading women around to provide a steady home. And if she hires the right attorney, they’ll use your public image to undercut you.”
The words settle like stones in my gut. He’s not wrong. I’ve seen the articles myself.
“If Vanessa pushes this, she’ll argue that Brianna deserves the stability of her mother’s home. Even if that mother abandoned her,” Ryan adds.
I slam my hand against my desk, startling even myself. “She left us. She doesn’t get to just waltz back in like it never happened.”
“I agree. But the court cares about appearances. About whatlooksstable, predictable, family-friendly.”
I drag a hand down my face, pulse pounding in my ears. “So what do you suggest? That I stop breathing until the paparazzi go away?”
Ryan lets out a long exhale. “I suggest you show the world that you’re not what the tabloids say you are. That you’re not a playboy—you’re a partner. A father. A man with roots.”
I snort bitterly. “And how the hell am I supposed to prove that?”
“Show that you’re capable of a committed relationship. The court doesn’t want to see a revolving door of women. They want to see stability. A partner who’s been around, who knows your daughter. Someone who can testify to your home being a steady environment.”
My stomach knots, instinct screaming at the absurdity of all this. I rub at the back of my neck, unsure what to say.
“Consider it, Worth. As your friend, I’d hate to see you lose Brianna.”
The fear of losing my daughter squeezes me harder than my pride. Before I can think twice of my next words, I blurt out, “I’ve actually been dating someone. We’ve kept it private.”
Shit. What am I saying?
“That’s great, then now’s the time to make it official. Before Vanessa makes her move.”
After Ryan and I hang up, I pour one more finger of liquor, stare at it, before leaving it on the cart.
Back in the kitchen, Bri looks up.
“Soup?” I ask, exhaling through my tight chest.
“Soup,” she confirms as I reach for a pot. “And grilled cheese. With garlic butter.”
“We must never forget the garlic butter,” I say, dead serious.
Brianna laughs, bright enough to sand the edge off the day.
14
MYA