I grabbed my keys and headed for the door, ignoring the surprised looks from my colleagues as I passed.
For once, I wasn’t going to overthink this.
The drive home was faster than usual. I’d broken several traffic laws and didn’t particularly care. My mind was already running through scenarios, contingencies, ways to approach this without making it worse. Without crossing lines I couldn’t uncross. Without revealing exactly how much I wanted to pull her into my arms and tell her she was worth infinitely more than whatever that bitch Tracy had said.
I pulled into the driveway at four thirty-two PM.
The house was quiet when I entered. Too quiet. No sounds of Megan’s usual chaos, no clattering from the kitchen, no evidence of the controlled chaos that typically defined late afternoon in my home.
I found them in the living room.
Megan was sprawled on the couch, eyes fixed on the television where some animated show played with bright, cheerful colors and obnoxious sound effects. She was still in her school uniform, her hair slightly mussed from the day.
Cate was beside her, ostensibly watching the same program.
She wasn’t. Her body was angled toward the screen, but her eyes were fixed on the window. On the trees outside, the fading afternoon light, anything but the cartoon playing in front of her. Her hands were folded in her lap, her posture slack in a way I’d never seen before.
She looked hollow. Like someone had reached inside her and extracted something essential, leaving behind only the shell.
The protective instinct that had been building all day crystallized into something sharp and dangerous.
I wanted to find Tracy. I wanted to make her understand the damage she’d done. I wanted to—
“Dad!”
Megan’s head snapped toward me, her entire face transforming. She scrambled off the couch, abandoning the cartoon without hesitation.
“You’re home early!”
“I am,” I said, catching her as she launched herself at me. I lifted her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, my eyes still on Cate.
She’d turned at the sound of Megan’s voice. Her expression shifted—surprise, then something that looked like concern, then a careful attempt at normalcy.
“Dr. Lyon,” she said, standing up. “I didn’t expect—”
“I know,” I said. I set Megan down, keeping one hand on her shoulder. “I left early. I have something I’d like to discuss with you both.”
Cate’s eyes widened slightly. Worried, probably. Thinking I was about to fire her again, or complain about something, or—
“I got tickets to the carnival,” I said, my voice carefully controlled. Professional. The tone I used when delivering diagnoses. “It’s in town this weekend. I thought it would be good for Megan to attend.”
Megan’s head whipped toward me. “Really? Dad, really?”
“Really.”
“Can we go on the Ferris wheel? And the bumper cars? And—”
“We’ll see,” I replied. “But I’ll need help. The crowds can be difficult to navigate with a child. I was hoping you would be willing to help, Cate.”
It was a transparent excuse. A thin veneer of professionalism over what was actually a lifeline.
Come with us. Let me help you. Let me remind you that you’re worth something.
Cate’s expression shifted—confusion, then understanding, then something that looked like it might be gratitude before she carefully locked it down.
“I don’t want to intrude,” she breathed.
“You wouldn’t be intruding,” I said. “Megan clearly needs supervision, and I could use the help.”
