"Personally, no."
Rebecca nodded.
"That's why I'm handling the legal part."
By 10:00, I was discharged.
Dad insisted on arranging everything.
A nurse.
A driver.
Three infant car seats.
Enough luggage to make it look as if we were relocating permanently.
Maybe we were.
When I reached the lake house, I stopped outside.
The property had belonged to my grandmother Evelyn.
She bought it before I was born.
After she died, it passed into the family trust for my benefit.
Ethan loved the place.
He loved telling people it was "our lake house."
I had never corrected him publicly.
That had been another mistake.
Inside, Dad had filled the kitchen.
My aunt had stocked the nursery.
Rebecca had arranged for new security codes.
I stared at the keypad.
"You changed them?"
Dad nodded.
"Ethan's access was revoked."
"Good."
My sons slept upstairs.
For the first time in days, there was silence.
Then a vehicle pulled into the driveway.
Ethan.
Of course.
Dad looked toward the window.
"Want me to handle it?"
"No."
I walked to the front door slowly.
Every step hurt.
I did not open it.
I spoke through the intercom.
"What do you want?"
"Claire, open the door."
"No."
"This is ridiculous."
"You don't live here."
"I've stayed there for years."
"Stayed."
He stared toward the camera.
"You're really doing this?"
"You filed for divorce."
"I withdrew the settlement proposal."
"Not the petition."
Silence.
Then his voice softened.
"Can I see the boys?"
That stopped me.
He was their father.
Whatever he had done to me did not erase that fact.
But neither did biology entitle him to walk into my recovery space whenever he wanted.
"Your attorney can arrange an appropriate visit."
"They're my sons."
"Yes."
"I shouldn't need permission."
"You need agreement."
His face hardened.
"This is your father talking."
"No."
"This isn't you."
I almost smiled.
That sentence had controlled me for years.
Whenever I disagreed, somebody else must have influenced me.
My father.
My accountant brain.
My friends.
Pregnancy hormones.
Never simply me.
"This is exactly me."
He looked away.
Then back at the camera.
"Vanessa is lying."
"I didn't ask."
"She's trying to blame me."
"I didn't ask."
"Claire, those payments were business expenses."
"Then the audit will prove that."
He said nothing.
I waited.
Finally:
"I love my sons."
I closed my eyes.
"Then become a man they can respect."
I ended the intercom.
He remained outside for another five minutes.
Then left.
The audit took another day to reach its preliminary conclusion.
Forty-eight hours after Ethan entered my hospital room, Mercer Holdings' board held an emergency meeting.
I attended remotely from the lake house.
No makeup.
Hair tied back.
A blanket around my shoulders.
One son asleep against my chest.
The board members had known me since I was a child.
Nobody commented on how I looked.
That mattered.
Rebecca presented the findings.
Millions in questionable transactions.
