Chương 15
“Should she have?”
Dad took a long breath.
“That was her decision.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
He looked at his hands.
“I don’t know.”
That was the first time all night the words I don’t know did not make me angry.
I reached across the space between us.
Dad took my hand.
His grip was warm and careful.
My phone buzzed.
A new message from David.
I found somewhere to sleep.
I’m not coming near the girls.
I stared at it.
Then another arrived.
Tell Emma I’m sorry I scared her.
A third.
And Claire, I’m sorry.
No explanation followed.
No but.
No because.
Just the sentence.
For one dangerous second, relief moved through me.
Dad must have felt my hand loosen.
He did not look at the screen.
He did not ask.
I read the message again.
Then I locked the phone and placed it facedown.
I did not answer.
Not yet.
Morning arrived without ceremony.
A nurse opened the blinds at six-thirty, and weak gray light spread across the room while Benjamin slept with one fist tucked under his chin.
Dad was snoring in the visitor chair.
Not loudly.
Just enough that I could use it against him for the rest of his life.
My phone showed twenty-three notifications.
I did not open any of them.
Instead, I watched Benjamin breathe.
His chest rose so slightly that every few seconds I had to convince myself it was still moving.
The nurse noticed.
“He’s fine.”
“I know.”
“You’ve checked twelve times.”
“I’m counting professionally.”
She smiled and handed me a cup of water.
Dad woke when she moved the tray table.
“I wasn’t asleep.”
“You were snoring.”
“I don’t snore.”
The nurse and I looked at each other.
Dad frowned.
“This feels coordinated.”
By eight, Marisol arrived with all four girls.
They entered the room in a crooked line carrying backpacks, mismatched jackets, and the smell of pancake syrup.
Grace reached the bed first.
“That’s him?”
“That’s him.”
She stared at Benjamin for five full seconds.
“He’s very small.”
“That is generally how babies begin.”
Sophie climbed onto the chair beside Dad.
“Grandpa said I was huge.”
Dad looked alarmed.
“I did not say huge.”
“You said substantial.”
“That was medically accurate.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m refining.”
Emma stayed near the door.
She looked at my cheek before she looked at the baby.
I held out my hand.
She came over slowly and slipped her fingers into mine.
“You okay?”
“I’m tired.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I looked at her.
“No.”
She nodded as if she had expected that.
Then she leaned down and kissed my forehead.
“I’m not okay either.”
“I know.”
Lucy stood beside the bassinet.
“Can he see us?”
“Sort of.”
“What does sort of mean?”
“It means newborns don’t see very far.”
“Can he hear?”
“Yes.”
Grace immediately leaned over him.
“I AM GRACE.”
Benjamin startled.
Four adults shouted her name at once.
She looked offended.
“You said he could hear.”
For the first time since labor began, I laughed without it turning into tears.
Marisol watched me from the foot of the bed.
She looked terrible.
Her hair was twisted into a knot that had partially collapsed, and she was wearing two different socks.
“You slept?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I dragged you into this.”
“You asked me to pick up children, Claire.”
“Then my husband drove past your house.”
“Yes.”
“That’s more than pickup.”
She shrugged.
“I’ve had worse Tuesdays.”
“It’s Thursday.”
“That explains a lot.”
Dad moved toward the coffee machine in the hallway.
Marisol pointed at him.
“No disappearing.”
He stopped.
“I was getting coffee.”
“You people keep wandering off when she needs you.”
Dad looked at me.
“Do you need me?”
I appreciated that he asked.
“No.”
“Then coffee?”
“Coffee.”
Marisol allowed him to leave.
An hour later, a family-law attorney named Rachel Kim arrived.
She was younger than Evelyn and spoke without wasting words.
She explained temporary custody options, protective orders, access to the house, bank accounts, and the difference between what I feared David might do and what we could actually prove.
I disliked several of her answers.
That made me trust her.
“You have a documented assault,” she said.
“You have messages acknowledging it.”
“You have hospital records.”
“And my daughters heard him admit it.”
“We are not building a case around children unless necessary.”
I nodded.
“Good.”
Rachel slid a yellow legal pad toward me.
“What do you want in the next seventy-two hours?”
The question looked simple.
It was not.
“I want the girls with me.”
“Possible.”
“I want David away from the hospital.”
“Already handled here.”
“I don’t want him entering wherever we stay.”
“Reasonable.”
“I want access to money.”
“Do you currently have it?”
I opened our banking app.
Checking was there.
Savings was there.
Then I noticed something.
Our joint savings balance had dropped by twenty thousand dollars.
My stomach tightened.
“That was higher.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“How much higher?”
“Twenty thousand.”
Rachel’s expression changed.
“Take screenshots.”
I did.
Dad returned with coffee and stopped when he saw my face.
“What?”
“David moved money.”
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand.”
Dad put the coffee down.
Rachel raised a hand.
“Do not call him.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Dad looked at her.
She stared back.
He sat down.
Rachel asked whether I knew of any separate accounts.
“No.”
“Retirement accounts?”
“Yes.”
“Investment accounts?”
“Some.”
“Can you access statements?”
“Probably.”
“Do that later.”
She looked at me carefully.
“Claire, this is the point where people panic and start moving money back.”
“I was about to.”
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because we want a clean record.”
Again, restraint.
Again, waiting.
I was beginning to understand that adult power often looked disappointingly like not doing the thing your body begged you to do.
My phone rang.
David.
Rachel asked if I wanted to answer.
“Yes.”
She nodded toward the speaker.
I accepted the call.
“Claire.”
His voice sounded exhausted.
“Where are the girls?”
“With me.”
May you like
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
