It’s just easier this way, and it isn’t like anyone is going to fact check me with Liam. He hasn’t been showing up for visitation and, even if he did, my family won’t bother asking for his side of the story. My nearest and dearest have always hated my ex. I’ve known that since day one, even though Mom and Dad were civil and Lark and Melody did their best to hide their lack of enthusiasm for my Brit boyfriend.
Of course, in the end, my family was right. They apparently have better creep-dar than I do—though I’d wager mine is a lot better now, after everything my lying, cheating, smarmy ex put me through.
Put me through…
He really does love to torture me.
The thought hits hard and my inner voice shouts—Served—in a panicked screech that echoes through my weary skull.
Oh no.
No, no, no. It can’t be…
The suspicion creeps up my back like a spider wearing spurs, flooding my mouth with the sour taste of fear.
Arms trembling, I set Felicity down on the carpet near the couch, where she promptly pulls herself up to a standing position to track her way toward the bowl of pine cones on the end table that she enjoys tossing all over the carpet, and which my mother refuses to move to a higher, less precarious location. I’ll have to grab the baby before launch, but this should at least give me time to rip open the envelope.
I tear into the letter, my heart beating in my stomach and my lungs aching in my chest. By the time I read through the first page, I’m so upset all I can do is squeak in panic and try not to hyperventilate as I move the pinecones in the nick of time and comfort my frustrated cone destroyer.
It takes a full five minutes—and the aid of a paper bag snatched from the kitchen cupboard for me, and a handful of Cheerios for Felicity—for both of us to regain control. When I can breathe without wheezing, I scoop her up with one shaking arm and the legal documents with the other hand, and hurry out to the backyard.
My Mom, Dad, Lark, and Mason are playing horseshoes, while Melody, my youngest sister, mans the grill, reworking old cheers from high school to fit horseshoes instead of basketball.
It’s a warm, happy, family scene.
One I’m going to shatter like a baseball through a window.
“Daddy, I’m going to kill you,” I croak. “For real. Kill. Dead. Forever!”
My dad glances over, a frown bunching his eyebrows. He’s nearly bald at this point, but his eyebrows have gotten bushier with age, until they resemble fuzzy caterpillars set loose to roam his forehead. He’s turning into a cute old man, but right now I don’t find anything about him cute. Not his eyebrows, and certainly not his ridiculous behavior that has, no doubt, contributed to Liam thinking he has a shot in hell of pulling off his latest stunt.
His latest, panic-inducing stunt…
“Liam is suing me for custody of Felicity.” My voice trembles as I speak the horrific words aloud for the first time. “Full, legal and physical custody.”
“What!” Lark’s eyes go comically wide, but nothing is funny right now. Nothing. I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared, not even when Lark and I surprised a six-foot water moccasin in our baby pool when we were kids. “That’s insane!”
“Insane or not, he might have a chance.” I shoot Dad another pointed look as I wave the envelope in the air. “Seeing as my daughter and I are living with a man who has recently been arrested for disturbing the peace and indecent exposure.”
Daddy’s eyebrows un-bunch as he throws his head back and laughs.
Laughs.
Like this is some hysterical joke!
“This isn’t funny, Daddy!” I insist.
“It is funny. It’s also bull-dooky.” He chuckles again, before turning to hurl his last horseshoe. “That fool doesn’t have a chance.”
“He might! You were arrested, Dad! This is serious!” I fight the urge to stomp my foot, or cry.
I’m twenty-eight years old, a successful professional, and a mom. I’m not going to act like a toddler, and I refuse to cry. If I start, I might never stop, and Felicity gets scared when I’m upset.
She’s already chanting “No, no, no,” again, simply from hearing me raise my voice.
“Here, let me take her.” Melody appears at my side, ever the angel of mercy. “I’m done cooking and the ribs are resting on the grill. Felicity and I can go play with toys while y’all talk.”
She’s right. I shouldn’t unleash all this in front of Felicity, even if she is too young to understand most of what we’re saying.
Still, for a moment, I cling to my sweet girl, not wanting to let her go, some primal part of me determined to hold onto my child so tight that no one can ever take her away from me. But I force myself to relax, and hand the baby over to my sister. If Daddy keeps laughing this off, I’m going to lose it. A shouting match with my equally hot-headed father isn’t off the table and, until it is, Felicity is better off with Aunt Melody.