Look, I'm not trying to replace you. No, but Lilia will be spending time with Julian, and I will be there. It would be healthier if you stopped treating me like some temporary mistake. I could feel the small red recording light in my pocket through the fabric of my coat as if it were giving off heat.
How long have you been in Julian's house? I asked. Her gaze sharpened. Why do you ask?
Curiosity. That's between me and Julian. It was between you and Julian when I still live there. She held my gaze for a long moment, then smiled.
You really want to know? Yes, I was there more than you think. My stomach tightened, but I didn't move. While I was at doctor's appointments, sometimes while I was in the hospital, don't be dramatic.
There was the phrase again, handed down from Julian to Beatrice to Sloan like a family heirloom. Sloan continued. You and Julian were already broken. I just gave him a place to breathe.
No, I said he gave you our money, our time, and my place in his life while I was carrying his child. She gave a delicate shrug. And now he wants to protect Lilia from all that bitterness. All that bitterness meaning me, meaning my failure to accept.
A waitress approached with a polite smile, then sensed the tension and retreated without asking if we needed anything. Sloan lowered her voice. Hey, Ara. I'll be honest.
Julian is going to win. Maybe not everything, but enough. He has the house. He has the income.
He has his mother. He has people who will testify that you're unstable. People? She paused.
The pause was significant. What people, Sloan? She caught herself. I'm not here to discuss strategy.
You brought up the court. I brought up reality. I leaned forward slightly. Have you and Julian discussed how to make me look unstable?
Her face closed off. Be careful, she said. It sounded much weaker coming from her. She stood, adjusting her coat.
I had hoped we could be adults about this. You had hoped I would be scared. She picked up her bag. You should be.
Then she leaned toward the stroller. Not enough to touch Lilia, but enough to make me stand. I shot up so fast the chair scraped against the floor. Sloan smiled.
See, that's what I mean. I took my phone out of my pocket and stopped the recording. Her gaze dropped to the screen for the first time since she'd sat down. Uncertainty entered her eyes.
You were recording me. We're in a public place, I said. And you asked to discuss my child. You can't use that.
Maybe, maybe not. But my lawyer can listen to it. Sloan swallowed. She'll wonder why Julian's mistress is talking about mother figures, court strategies, and how to make me look unstable.
Her hand tightened on her purse strap. I didn't say strategy. You said enough. She glanced toward the stroller again.
This time there was no softness in her eyes. You think this makes you strong? She whispered. You're still the woman he left.
No, I said I'm the woman he underestimated. I walked out before she could answer outside. The afternoon air was sharp and bright. Lilia woke up as I pushed the stroller down the block.
Her soft cries rose into the cold sky. I stopped by a pharmacy window and lifted her into my arms. I know, I whispered. I know, my phone vibrated.
An unknown sender. The message contained a photo. Julian and Sloan entering the Carlyle Hotel. The date was March 18th.
The timestamp showed the early morning hours. The night Lilia had a fever. Underneath the photo was a single line. Thought you could use this?
I stood on the sidewalk holding my daughter and stared at the screen as traffic moved around me. For months, Julian had counted on the darkness. Now, even strangers were handing me the light.
My father lived behind black rot iron gates I used to hate. In my youth, the gates felt like protection. By the time I married Julian, they felt like a sentence. Roman Barlo's house was at the end of a long driveway lined with old maples and neatly trimmed hedges.
It wasn't flashy. My father had never been one for show. It was a solid, symmetrical home built of gray stone and old money. The kind of house people call tasteful when they really mean impossible to ignore.
I parked by the front steps and cut the engine. Lilia was asleep in the back. For 5 minutes, I didn't move. I had faced Sloan.
I had faced Julian. I was facing a court where strangers would debate my fitness as a mother. But the thought of ringing my father's doorbell made my palms sweat. Maybe it was because I had once thrown his love back in his face and called it control.
Maybe it was because I was afraid he would look at me and see the mistakes I had defended for years. Or maybe it was because a part of me still heard Julian's voice. Your father doesn't want you back. He wants to say, "I told you so."
I looked at Lilia in the rearview mirror. Her mouth was slightly open in her sleep. A tiny crease forming and disappearing between her brows. I got out of the car.
The front door opened before I reached it. My father stood on the threshold in a charcoal gray sweater and dark trousers, older than I remembered, and yet exactly the same. The lines around his eyes were deeper. The hair at his temples almost entirely silver.
His face always serious changed when he saw the car seat in my hand. "Ara, " he said. I stopped on the bottom step. "Hi, Dad."
For a second, neither of us moved. Then Lilia made a small noise and the spell broke. My father stepped aside. "Come in."
It's cold. " The large foyer smelled of cedar polish and the lemon tea my mother used to drink. I hadn't expected the scent to hit me so hard. A lump formed in my throat before I could stop it."