You don't have to answer that. I want to. She pressed the speaker phone button and gave me a short nod. Recording laws were contextual, but this was happening in her office.
With a lawyer present, and Julian had been told all custody communication should go through counsel. If he chose to talk anyway, Hope needed to be a witness, I answered. Julian's voice was sharp and controlled. Did you restrict the joint account?
Yes. You had no right. It's a marital account currently under review in an active court case. You sound like your lawyer.
Good. A pause. I wanted to be fair to you. You mean the agreement that gives Sloan access to my daughter and gags me?
She's part of my family now. She's your mistress. She's not going anywhere. Neither am I.
His breathing changed. There was a time that shift would have made me apologize in advance. Not anymore. You're making yourself look hostile, he said.
I'm making myself clear. You don't understand what you're risking. I do. No, you don't.
Judges care about stability. I have a home, an income, a family. You have postpartum episodes and a grudge. Hope looked up.
I kept my voice level. Do you want to discuss Lilia's medical appointment schedule? Don't change the subject. It's the only thing we should be discussing directly.
Fine, he snapped. Let's discuss Lilia. You think it's good for her to see you falling apart? My stomach clenched, but I heard Hope's pen scratching.
Lilia is three months old, I said. What's good for her is to be fed, kept safe, and have a secure adult. Exactly. Which is why I'm doing all this.
Then answer one question. What brand of formula is she on right now? The silence was so long it became an answer. Don't play games, he said.
What size diapers, Ara? What's her pediatrician's name? I know her doctor. The name.
He swore under his breath. Hope wrote down three words. Father doesn't know. Julian recovered with anger.
Are you trying to trap me? No. I'm asking basic questions about the child you're trying to get primary custody of. I'm her father.
Then start acting like it. The words were out before I could soften them. I didn't regret them. Julian went quiet.
His voice dropped. You are going to regret this path. No, I said. I regretted the other one.
I hung up. My hand was shaking afterward, but only a little. Hope leaned back. That was useful.
He sounded horrible. He revealed himself. We spent the next hour drafting a formal response. No more direct calls.
All communication through lawyers. Emergency child matters via email. Only visitations confirmed in writing. No third-party contact with the child without mutual agreement.
When I left Hope's office, it had started to rain. I stood under the awning, juggling Lilia's car seat, the diaper bag, and trying to open an umbrella. Across the street, a black SUV was idling at the curb. I didn't think anything of it at first.
Then the passenger window rolled down. Sloan was inside. Julian was driving. She stared at me through the rain, not smiling this time.
Julian's face was in shadow, but I could feel his anger from across the street. My phone buzzed. A text from Marcus Rhodes. Miss Barlo, your refusal to cooperate will be noted for the court.
I looked from the text to the SUV, then opened my email and forwarded Marcus' message to Hope with a single line. Add it to the file. The SUV pulled away. Lilia slept through the rain.
For the first time in months, I didn't feel like I was being chased. I felt like I was documenting them.
The hospital looked different when I returned without a massive belly or a car seat in my hands, brighter, somehow less intimidating. I walked the halls of the maternity ward, holding Lilia against my chest, and felt my body remember what my mind had tried to file away as facts, the smell of antiseptic, the squeak of shoes on polished floors, the distant cry of a newborn behind a closed door, the quiet beeps of machinery. I had become a mother here. Julian had become an absence here.
Hope had arranged a meeting with Gail, the nurse who had helped me during labor. I found her at the nurse's station reading a chart. She looked up and recognition crossed her face before I even spoke. "Ara, " she said.
"And this must be Lilia. " Lilia blinked at her unimpressed as usual. "Gail smiled. She has your eyes."
Thank you for meeting with me. " Gail's expression softened. "I wondered if I'd hear from you again. That surprises me.
Don't be. " She led me to a small consultation room at the end of the hall. There were two chairs, a round table, and a box of tissues that immediately made you suspicious of any conversation that happened there. Gail sat across from me."
I've been on a maternity ward for 18 years, she said. You learn what real support looks like, and you learn what the absence of it looks like, even when someone tries to disguise it. A lump formed in my throat. Hope said, "You might be willing to give a statement."
I've already started writing it. " She opened a folder. Inside were notes. Time of admission."
Support person absent. Patient attempted to contact husband multiple times. Husband arrived post delivery. Patient appeared physically exhausted but attentive to infant.