He glances up, all fake innocence. “Relax. I just wanted one for me.”
“You could’ve asked,” I say, reaching for the stroller handle.
He pulls it back slightly. “You still don’t trust me.”
“You haven’t given me a reason to.”
He smirks. “You really think I’d hurt my own kid?”
“No,” I say, “but I think you’d use her.”
The smirk fades. “Wow. That’s what you think of me?”
“I think you love control and your image more than people.”
He exhales sharply and lets go of the stroller. “You’ve changed.”
“I had to.”
He looks down at Savannah one last time. “She’s beautiful. Guess you did something right.”
I don’t flinch. “Idid everything right.”
For a moment, he just stands there — silent, searching. Then he nods once and starts to walk away.
Relief floods me, shaky and false. It’s over. I made it through this.
But before I can exhale, a man in a navy suit steps into my path, holding an envelope. He’s polite, efficient — detached. “Claudia Holloway?”
“Yes,” I answer, already knowing I won’t like what comes next.
He hands me the thick envelope. “You’ve been served.”
The words hit like ice water.
“What is this?”
“Custody petition.” His voice doesn’t waver. “Filed this morning.”
I glance past him. Kyle’s already far enough away that I can’t throw them at him and hit him in that enormous head of his. He doesn’t look back, shoulders squared like he just finished a game and thinks he’s won.
He didn’t even have the courage to face me while doing it.
I hold the envelope against my chest, the weight of it heavier than it should be. Savannah lets out a soft coo from her stroller,a tiny sound that steadies me. I crouch beside her, brush my thumb over her cheek, and whisper, “You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you.”
People pass us — couples, students, tourists — and no one has any idea that my life just split cleanly in two.
By the time I make it back to where Nalani and Sofie insisted on being, Sofie’s the first to spot me. “Well? How’d it go?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My throat feels tight. I just push the stroller closer and hand Nalani the envelope. “I can’t talk right now. I just,” I fight back tears. “I have to pee and feed —”
“Say no more,” Sofie says. “Let’s roll.”
The three of us pack up in silence. Not one question. Not one word. Just movement—steady, quiet, necessary.
Back at Nalani’s, I barely register the climb up the stairs or the sound of Sofie cursing at the “piece-of-crap, out-of-order elevator.” I go straight to the bathroom, shut the door, and lean against it.
The second I hear the latch click, the tears come. Not loud. Not messy. Just the kind that burn—slow, steady, relentless. I turn on the faucet, more for cover than need, and breathe through the ache. Savannah’s soft coos echo in my mind. I focus on that until the tears fade into quiet resolve.
