“Tell me everything,” she said.
So I did.
I told her about Jack’s late nights, the lies, the hospital hallway, Lauren’s claims, the doctor’s revelation, Jack missing Noah’s birth. I handed over screenshots, call logs, text messages, bank statements showing unexplained hotel charges Jack had once labeled “client hospitality,” and a photo of the roses on the hospital floor that Mike had taken without me asking because he understood evidence before I did.
Celeste reviewed everything without interrupting.
When I finished, she looked up.
“He will try to make this about access to the child.”
“I know.”
“He will try to appear remorseful.”
“I know.”
“He may even be remorseful.”
I looked at her.
“That doesn’t make him safe.”
Celeste’s expression softened almost imperceptibly.
“Good. You understand the difference.”
Jack fought at first.
Not honestly. Publicly.
He sent long emails about wanting to be a present father, about how I was punishing him for a mistake, about how Noah deserved both parents. He sent flowers until Celeste told his lawyer to stop. He asked for unsupervised overnight visits when Noah was barely three weeks old and still waking every two hours. He posted a black-and-white photo of a baby blanket on Instagram with a caption about “fighting for fatherhood,” and people who knew nothing wrote comments calling him brave.
