“A forty-two thousand dollar transfer to an LLC named Azure Estates isn’t standard restructuring,” I said.
He set the glass down on the counter with a sharp click and left the room without taking a sip.
Now, the hospital bathroom smelled of industrial pine disinfectant and the steam from the hot water tap I had left running to soothe my back.
Eleanor Vance, my mother-in-law, stood by the mirror, smoothing the lapels of her cream-colored designer knit jacket.
She handed me a brown paper towel, her grip firm and dry.
“Julian has already drafted the paperwork, Clara,” Eleanor whispered, her breath smelling of wintergreen. “He is not going to let you take those boys back to that house without some legal guarantees for our family.”
“The boys are thirty-eight hours old,” I said.
“The family name has stood for eighty years,” she replied, her voice dropping even lower. “Do not make the mistake of thinking you are indispensable to it.”
I looked down at the paper towel in my hand, damp and starting to shred at the edges.
“Julian does not make these decisions alone,” I said.
“Julian does what is necessary to protect the business,” Eleanor said, turning toward the door.
When I walked back into the main room, the cheap desk fan on the windowsill was humming, circulating the warm Austin air.
Julian was standing near the blue vinyl folder, his gold watch catching the yellow fluorescent light.
“The family expects a full custody settlement before the twins leave the hospital,” Julian said, his words coming out in a fast, dismissive rush.
My hand hovered over my stomach, where the postpartum ache was a steady, dull weight. “A custody settlement? We are married, Julian.”
“We are organizing our assets,” he said.
He stepped back, refusing to look at the bassinet where Leo and Oliver sleep.
