“Under the couch. Blythe used it for fort construction yesterday.”
“I NEEDED IT!”
I’m washing dishes, listening to this everyday family chaos, and thinking this could be normal. This could be every morning. The thought should scare the hell out of me, but it doesn’t.
The doorbell kills the moment.
“I’ll get it,” I say, heading for the door before remembering I’m still shirtless.
I check the peephole and my blood turns to ice. Evan. In full uniform, looking pissed.
“Golda,” I call, keeping my voice steady. “It’s Evan.”
She goes pale. “What’s he doing here? It’s not his day.”
Evan starts pounding on the door. “Golda! Open up. I know you’re there.”
“Let me grab my shirt,” I say, gesturing at myself. “Can you?—”
She nods, already moving. “Kids, stay in the kitchen.”
I sprint to the bedroom, throwing on yesterday’s clothes while listening for trouble. Through the quiet I hear Golda open the front door.
“Evan. This is unexpected.”
“Is it?” His voice is pure ice. “After yesterday? That social media bullshit? Playing house with your hockey player?”
“The children are getting ready for school. This isn’t?—”
“I’m taking them,” he cuts her off. “Both of them. Emergency paperwork went through this morning. Temporary custody change until the hearing.”
“You can’t do that. There’s no?—”
“Check your email. Judge Willis signed it an hour ago. Family instability. Bad influences. Public exposure without permission.”
I come out of the bedroom fully dressed and ready to throw punches. Golda’s blocking the doorway, but she’s gone white.
“You need to leave,” she tells him. “We’ll handle this through lawyers.”
“I’m not handling anything.” He pushes past her into the house. “Tyson! Blythe! Get your stuff. You’re coming with me.”
“Dad?” Tyson appears looking confused. “What are you doing here?”
“Change of plans, buddy.” Evan switches to fake-cheerful dad voice. “You’re staying with me for a few days. Sound good?”
“But we have school,” Tyson says. “And hockey practice.”
“I’ll handle school. We’ll figure out the rest later. Where’s your sister?”
“I’m calling my lawyer,” Golda says, going for her phone. “This is completely inappropriate.”
“Call whoever you want.” Evan spots Blythe coming out of the kitchen. “There she is! Ready for an adventure?”
Blythe, for once in her life, is quiet. She looks around at all the tension, eyes wide and scared.
“I don’t want to go,” she says, voice tiny. “We have pancakes. With sprinkles.”
Evan’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t up for discussion, Blythe. Get your backpack. Now.”
