“And I need to go back to get my truck.”
But before he moves, he leans in again for one more kiss.
Chapter twenty-three
Me too
Evan
My phone is already in my hand when I step out onto the back deck.
It’s early. Quiet enough that I can hear the faint clink of Penny’s spoon against a mug inside. Elle’s still in her room getting dressed, and Gus is pacing the fence line like he’s got a job to do.
I scroll to my lawyer’s name and hit call.
“Mark here.”
“Stacey’s in town.”
“Has she filed anything?”
“No.”
There’s a pause, then the sound of paper shuffling on Mark’s end followed by a keyboard tap. He doesn’t sound surprised. He never does.
“Has she contacted you formally about modifying custody?”
“No.”
Another pause. “Then nothing’s changed.”
I watch the neighbor’s dog, Scout, meet Gus at the fence line, their wet noses pressing up against each other while the mist catches in the low light.
“She turned up outside at her school.”
“You still have sole legal and physical custody,” he continues. “Unless she petitions the court, you are the decision-maker. Any visitation is voluntary.”
Voluntary.
The word settles cold in me.
That’s what it always comes back to with Stacey. What she chooses and what she doesn’t. Every time she volunteered herself to the thing killing her instead of the little girl waiting for her.
And now I’m supposed to volunteer Elle.
“She’s asking to see her again,” I say.
“You’re within your rights to decline. If you decide to allow it, keep it public and short. And document everything.”
“I will.”
My hand tightens around the phone.
Stacey and I were never married. Engaged for one stupid, hopeful stretch of time when I still thought loving someone hard enough could make her stay clean. But after the last time she disappeared, after the promises and the missed visits and the mornings Elle woke up asking for someone who wasn’t coming, I had Mark formalize what Stacey already knew.
She didn’t fight the custody order. That was almost the worst part. Some lucid piece of her knew she couldn’t be what Elleneeded, and I’d been terrified that piece would vanish the second she wanted something badly enough.
“You don’t owe her access,” he says, tone shifting to slightly less formal. “You owe your daughter stability.”
