“Claire.” Daniel leaned forward. His voice dropped, and for a moment I heard something that sounded almost genuine in it — a last appeal to the years between us, to the person he thought he knew. “We have a son. You can’t just—”
“I know we have a son,” I said. “I was there.”
He flinched.
Elaine tried. I’ll give her that. She spent twenty minutes attempting various angles — appeals to family loyalty, suggestions that this was all a misunderstanding, a brief venture into mild threats that Grace shut down with three sentences and a reference to the relevant statutes. Through all of it, I sat quietly and held my son and let the process proceed.
When they finally left — without the signatures they’d come for, without the concessions they’d hoped for, without anything except a clear understanding of their legal exposure — Elaine paused at the door. She turned back with the expression of a woman who has one last thing to say and has decided she will say it.
“You’ve made enemies today,” she said.
“I had them already,” I replied. “I just didn’t name them.”
The door closed.
Grace let out a long, slow breath. Martin permitted himself a small smile. My son, still asleep in my arms, made a sound like a sigh — a perfect, unconscious commentary on the whole affair.
