Chapter 1
Brenna
He left me for a size-two selfie star and didn’t want me to make a scene. My husband—who’d remarried as soon as our divorce was final—overestimated the preacher’s kid in me and underestimated my maternal grit. I wasn’t going to be blotted out of my children’s lives. I couldn’t be erased, and I planned to show him. I just had to figure out how.
“He’s here,” my sister, Georgi, said, looking out the front window. “It’s not right that he’s doing this, Brenna. It’s not his day yet.”
“He’s announcing his candidacy for mayor tonight, so he wanted the kids with him.” I turned to the hallway. “Sophia! Noah! Your dad’s here.”
The doorbell rang as my eight-year-old, Sophia, came out of her room, barefoot and wearing shorts and a My Little Pony T-shirt. Her corkscrew curls fell in front of her eyes. She’d taken the bow out.
“Where’s your dress? Why did you change?”
“I don’t want to wear it,” she said. “It itches.”
“That’s my girl,” Georgi said.
I sent her a sharp look, then turned back to my daughter. “Honey, he’s going to make you put it on.”
“I want to stay home. It’s not his day.”
“I know, honey, but it’s an unusual night with the campaign starting, so I’m trying to work with him.”
The doorbell rang again, and I took a deep breath and opened the door. The man I once loved stood there under the light, his character so clear to me now. “They’re not ready,” I said.
“Why not?” He came in as if he belonged, though he’d never lived here. He looked at Sophia, then back at me. “Why can’t you do the least little thing I ask, Brenna? I wanted her to wear the dress Rayne bought her.”
“She hates it.”
“I don’t care. She’s wearing it. This is an important event.”
“Hi, Daddy,” Sophia said meekly.
“Hey, baby.” He shot me another look. “You couldn’t even do her hair?”
“She undid everything. That’s how much she doesn’t want to go.”
“Sophia, go to your room and put on that dress. Rayne will fix your hair in the car since your mother can’t seem to do it.”
“Don’t start on her, Jack,” Georgi said.
“Georgi, stop,” I said. Neither of them had a problem brawling in front of the kids, but I wouldn’t let it happen. “Noah!” I called.
Four-year-old Noah came out, thankfully still wearing the little suit I’d put on him. “I’m sweaty,” he said, looking up at his dad with round, pleading eyes.
“You’ll be okay, little man. You look really snappy.”
“I hate snappy.”
“I have gummies in the car.”
Noah sucked in a breath. “Really?”
“Only for kids who keep their nice clothes on.”
“I’m not sure gummies and nice clothes go together,” I pointed out. “You might want to rethink that.”
“There’s no time. I’ll feed them to him one at a time.”
“No!” Noah said. “I want to hold them.”
Jack ignored him and looked up the hall. “Sophia!” She came out with her dress on, and she had stuck the bow back in her hair. It was crooked and hanging halfway over her forehead. I took it out and clipped it in right, hoping it would keep Rayne from torturing her. I bent over and kissed her. “Be sweet, okay? It’ll be over before you know it.”
I got the little backpack that went with Noah. “His inhaler is in here. Just keep it close. You never know who’s going to smoke or wear perfume or . . . whatever.”
“He’s tougher than you think,” Jack said.
“He has to be able to breathe to be tough. Please. If Rayne’s going to be watching him, tell her where it is.”
“Daddy, do I get gummies too?” Sophia asked.
“Maybe a few, if you don’t complain about that dress. It’ll hurt Rayne’s feelings.”
“Really, Jack?” Georgi set her hands on her hips. “You’re saying that in this house?”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Jack snapped. “What are you even doing here?”
“Visiting my sister,” she said defiantly. “Remember those kids are not little tin soldiers bred to make you look good for the mayoral race.”
“Georgi!” I said again.
Sophia looked up at me but wisely kept her thoughts to herself. I kissed both kids and watched as Jack took them away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, munchkins,” I called down the sidewalk.
No one answered. The light came on in the car, illuminating my nemesis in her gold lamé top that looked more sorority sister than stepmother. But then, she’d been barely out of her teens when he married her.
I restrained myself from slamming the door. When I turned back, my sister was standing right behind me.
“Did you see what that woman is wearing?” she asked.
“How could I not?”
“You should get angry, Brenna. You should get fighting mad.”
I couldn’t believe her. “You think I’m not mad? You think I like having to move out of my home, struggle for money, hand my kids over when it’s not even his day? Trust me, I’m mad. I just don’t want the kids to hear your smart-aleck comments. I don’t want to make this harder for them.”
“You think that if you give him the kids on demand, he’ll change his mind about the custody suit. But he won’t. He has to get the kids so he can play the part of the perfect family man and make people forget he cheated on his wife.”
“I don’t think that. His father is driving that suit, so there’s no way Jack will drop it. But I do want to look reasonable to the judge.”
“Brenna, don’t be reasonable. Be angry. Channel that anger and don’t let him walk all over you. He has a lot of gall even looking you in the eye when he’s suing you. You have to handle this, Brenna. Your head has to be clear.”
I didn’t respond. I knew what she meant.
I went back to the den and picked up the toys, tossed them into their basket. “No right-minded judge would take those kids away from their mother,” Georgi muttered.
“Unless Jack’s father has paid the judge off,” I said. “And we both know that’s possible.”
“Then we have to make it harder for him to do that.” She got her phone out of her purse on the couch’s end table and thumbed it. “I’m going to stalk her on social media. Get pictures of her in that outfit. You can show that to the judge as evidence that she shouldn’t even be around those kids, let alone making decisions about them. And we both know Jack’s going to stick them with nannies if he gets them. It’s not like he really wants them. He just doesn’t want you to have them.”
I went into the bathroom and closed the door as she started her cyberstalking. I knelt, reached under the sink to the far back of the vanity cabinet, and pulled out the little airline-size bottle I had stashed there.
I opened it and swallowed the whole thing in two gulps, then put the empty bottle back where it had been. I sat on the floor, my head against the wall, and waited for my pulse to slow.