Chương 6
“And the second?”
“She gave it to me.”
Dominic’s voice became almost gentle. “What did you do?”
“I kept it.”
“Where?”
Ethan swallowed. “In my desk at home.”
Dominic closed his eyes once.
“You brought Lauren into your house, slept beside her, ate breakfast, went to work, and all that time Claire’s letter sat in your desk.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you destroy it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know.”
Ethan stared at him. “Because destroying it would have made the decision permanent.”
“It was permanent for Claire.”
“I know.”
“No. You know it now.”
Ethan’s eyes reddened, but he did not cry. “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth without waiting for me to drag it out.”
“My mother believed you would get Claire killed. Claire believed you would take the babies and never let her leave. I believed I could delay choosing a side until everyone calmed down. Then each month made the truth harder to admit. When Claire got sick, she refused to return because she thought you would punish our family. My mother told her you would use the twins to hurt her. Claire knew that was a lie, but she also knew what you were capable of doing to people who betrayed you.”
Dominic straightened.
Ethan looked at the tattoos across his hands. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Dominic did not.
The easiest version of the story had Margaret as a monster, Ethan as her cowardly accomplice, Claire as a captive, and Dominic as the wronged man who would have rescued her if only given the chance.
The truth resisted that arrangement.
Claire had run from something real. Margaret had turned that fear into a prison. Ethan had kept the prison locked because opening it would expose him. Dominic had built the kind of life in which Claire could be shown one photograph of armed men and believe the worst explanation.
“Bring me the letter,” Dominic said.
Ethan nodded.
“And tell your mother she does not contact the girls.”
“You can’t legally prevent—”
Dominic looked at him.
Ethan stopped.
“Tell her,” Dominic repeated, “that if she approaches them outside the process, I will document it and give it to the court.”
Ethan blinked, surprised by the words.
“You expected something else?”
“I don’t know what I expected.”
“Neither did Claire. That seems to have been useful to all of you.”
The paternity result allowed Dominic to request temporary kinship placement, but Margaret filed her own petition the same morning. Her attorneys argued that Dominic’s documented associations created an unacceptable risk. They attached news articles, photographs, federal affidavits from unrelated cases, and a list of businesses allegedly used for money laundering.
Dominic’s attorney, Helen Park, read the petition in his office while he stood near the window.
“She’s not trying to prove you’re a bad man,” Helen said. “She’s trying to prove the children would be safer with almost anyone else.”
“They’re afraid of her.”
“That matters. It is not the only thing that matters.”
“She concealed them.”
“She says Claire chose concealment.”
“She forged a death.”
“She says she acted under Claire’s instructions during a psychological crisis.”
Dominic turned. “You believe that?”
“I believe a family-court judge will consider whether both households are dangerous in different ways.”
Helen was in her early fifties and wore bright red glasses that made people underestimate how severe she could be. She had represented Dominic’s legitimate companies for nine years and refused every criminal matter he offered.
“What happens now?” he asked.
“The court may order the girls to remain in foster care during evaluation.”
“No.”
“That is a possible outcome.”
“They’ve lost their mother.”
“Yes.”
“They don’t need strangers.”
“They also don’t need a custody war fought over their heads.”
Dominic walked to the conference table. “I can make Margaret withdraw.”
Helen removed her glasses. “Explain what you mean.”
He said nothing.
“Dominic.”
“I can persuade her.”
“No.”
“She committed fraud.”
“Then present evidence through counsel.”
“She kept my children from me.”
“And if you threaten her, even indirectly, you will prove every allegation in her petition.”
He stared at the polished table.
Helen put her glasses back on. “You have spent your adult life making sure people understand there are consequences for crossing you. Now you need to demonstrate that you can be crossed without becoming dangerous.”
“That sounds like surrender.”
“It sounds like parenting.”
The home inspection passed on the second attempt.
Dominic did not hire a designer. He took Ivy and Skye to choose what they needed during a supervised outing. The store overwhelmed them. Ivy wanted every object within reach because choosing one seemed to mean losing all the others. Skye hid inside a display tent and refused to come out until Dominic crawled halfway inside.
He looked ridiculous on his hands and knees in a black suit.
Skye watched him from behind a pillow.
“Do you live here now?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Good. The rent is probably terrible.”
A small smile appeared and disappeared.
They chose beds shaped like nothing, plain wooden frames with rounded corners. Ivy selected a yellow blanket, then exchanged it for blue because the yellow reminded her of the lake-house dress. Skye chose green sheets with tiny white stars. They argued over a lamp shaped like a rabbit until Dominic bought two and Helen later accused him of violating the no-excessive-gifts instruction.
“It’s a lamp,” he said.
“It’s two lamps.”
“There are two children.”
“You’re going to be very difficult at birthdays.”
He looked at the bags filling the trunk. “Probably.”
The girls moved into his home under temporary placement eleven days after Claire’s death. Nadia visited three times during the first week. A trauma therapist came twice. Marisol stayed the first two nights because the court did not consider Dominic prepared to manage their sleep disturbances alone.
Ivy woke at 2:13 every morning and checked Skye’s breathing.
May you like
Skye refused to sleep unless the bedroom door remained open.
Dominic began sitting in the hallway after midnight. He brought paperwork but rarely read it. Sometimes he heard the girls whisper. Sometimes they went silent because they could see his shadow beneath the door.
