“I know.”
“I’ll make a note in the file that she’s back in the area,” he adds. “And if she does file, we’re prepared.”
We hang up, but I don’t stand there thinking about it. I scroll to the next number and call the contact from the old supervised visitation arrangement—Lisa, the case coordinator who handled the last round of visits.
She must recognize my name. “Good morning, Mr. Prince.”
“Hi, Lisa. I’d just like something documented,” I tell her. “Stacey’s back in town. There’s no court motion, but if she requests formal visitation, I’ll need the proper process reinstated.”
“That can be arranged,” she says evenly. “Are there concerns?”
“There are always concerns.”
She hums and makes a note, then confirms the prior arrangement is still in their records and nothing has changed. When I hang up, my pulse isn’t racing like it was yesterday.
Last time, I’d waited. Last time, I’d hoped she’d follow through on her own, and I’d believed her promises. I don’t do that anymore.
I call Stacey next. It’s the same number she’s had for years, and she answers on the fifth ring, a little breathy.
“Evan. Hi.”
Her voice has a careful warmth to it that I’ve heard a million times before, and it makes my stomach lurch.
“You said you wanted to see her,” I say.
“I do. I just—I’d really love to talk about us, too. It’s been a long time.”
“There is no us.”
There hasn’t been an us in years. Not since she pawned the ring, though by then we were already broken. And definitely not since I learned the hard way that wanting someone to get better doesn’t mean they will.
A small exhale sounds down the line. “Right. Of course.”
“You can see her, but public places only. Short visits to start with, and you show up on time. If you cancel or you’re late without notice, I’ll pull it all back.”
There’s a beat.
“That feels a little strict, don’t you think?”
“No.”
Silence stretches between us, and I don’t fill it.
“I’m her mother,” she says softly.
“And I’m the one raising her.”
“I’m trying, Evan,” she says. “I’ve been working on things, and I thought maybe… if I stayed a little longer this time, we could figure something out.”
I lean back against the back door, my gaze hooked on the fence where Gus is still sniffing about.
“You haven’t filed anything,” I say. “So don’t start acting like you have.”
She goes quiet.
“I’m not trying to take her or challenge custody,” she says eventually.
“Then don’t talk like you are.”
