The house was silent, empty in a way that made my chest ache. I put him down slowly, and he wandered over to the kitchen like a little ghost. I made him something to eat. He barely touched it, just stared at his plate while I sat across from him, tired to the bone, bruises burning under my clothes, arms still raw.
When he finally finished, I cleaned up, tucked him into bed, and kissed his forehead. His little body was warm, soft, and somehow all mine, but I felt every crack inside me that hadn’t healed.
I collapsed onto the couch after. My phone buzzed. My lawyer.
“Divorce papers are ready. Needs signatures from you and David.”
I typed back, hands trembling. “Okay.”
Then the phone rang again. Colt Blackwood. My pulse hitched.
“Is your divorce ready?” His voice was calm but sharp. “In five days I’ll get you out of that house. You and your son.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “I will make him sign.”
The weight in my chest eased a little. A small victory.
The next morning came David’s call. Cold. Sharp. The kind that made your bones ache before your mind could even think. He told me to go to the hotel. I left Ryle with the maid. I wanted to take him with me so badly, but I couldn’t. Not yet.
....