Chapter 1
Owen
My ex-wife, Leah, is insane. Sociopathic. Cruel.
I’ve never met anyone in my entire life as hellbent on destroying another person as she is with me. It’s all she thinks about every hour of every day. What did she think about while we were married?
Destroyingotherpeople.
She liked the façade being with me offered. Nice home, perfect family, revered within the community. Under her polished outward appearance was a cold, calculating monster.
I hate I feel that way about the mother of my three children, but there’s no denying it. I’ve had the better part of two decades learning all these awful things about her.
“She’s just really concerned about Mr. Monahan’s sleep disorder and claims her children are in danger, especially their daughter.”
My gut roils and the coffee I’d consumed threatens to come back up. I dart my eyes over to my attorney, Dane Alexander, and shoot him a panicked look. He gives me a small nod and interjects.
“Without substantiated evidence, this is nothing more than a ridiculous claim,” Dane says smoothly. “She wants the house, not the kids, and it couldn’t be more obvious.”
The house in question was in our prenup. Since Leah came from wealth, and I created mine, we were both intelligent enough to protect ourselves from future problems. Her family’s oil money remains hers and the house is still mine.
It’s the kids who are stuck in the middle of the mess, which I hate.
Leah wants the house, likely to spite me, and is using the kids to get her way. Yes, I have a fucking sleep disorder. Do I sleepwalk and do weird shit sometimes? Sure. Would I ever hurt my children? Never.
I pinch at the bridge of my nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. I’m not in the mood to be at court today with the viper who still has my last name. Too much shit to do today without piling this monstrosity on top.
I’m cracking.
And, as soon as a sliver is visible, she will seep her way in, destroying me from the inside out.
Judge Rowe flips through some documents before leveling Leah’s attorney with a firm stare. “I’m not sure what you have here that will convince me to grant your client full custody, Mr. Linton. Your client’s claims are just that. If you have proof, bring it to me, and then we’ll talk. In the meantime, the custody arrangement will stand as is for the two remaining shared underaged children. Divorce is bitter and ugly. People do and say things they shouldn’t. But that’s not enough reason to remove children from one of their parents.”
Dane clasps my shoulder and squeezes. “Told you not to worry. Judge Rowe is reasonable and fair. This isn’t his first rodeo.”
After the judge dismisses us, I hightail it out of the courtroom, a chill racing down my spine when I pass Leah. Her familiar floral scent envelopes me making me want to gag. I’d hated her perfume from the very beginning. Somehow, over time, I learned to dull my senses to it. Now, having not been around her since the last hearing, I’m overwhelmed by the stench of it.
“I’ll get my proof,” she whispers low enough only I can hear.
Rather than stopping to indulge the wicked witch in an argument, I stride as far and as fast away from her as I can get. It’s not until I’m outside, the blistering winter wind blasting me in the face, do I feel like I can breathe again. My next appointment is right after this one which means I have to haul ass to the clinic.
I climb into my black GMC Yukon Denali, a practical change from my Audi after the divorce, and turn the heat on full blast. I’m on edge, so I turn it to one of my favorite podcasts to chill me the fuck out before my doctor’s appointment. This particular podcast is calledTeenage Angst Dad of Three. He’s a divorced guy, like me, with three teenaged kids, also like me, documenting his life, wins, and struggles. The man’s also a jokester which I appreciate but always has some sort of anecdote for me to tuck away for a later date. As corny as it is, I feel like Tim Hopper and I are best friends. It doesn’t matter if he’s from bumfuck Minnesota, hours and hours away from me, or the fact he has no clue who I am.
My stress dials down several notches as I cross town to the medical clinic where my sleep doctor is located. It’s a follow-up for a new medication that seems to be working well. I could have cancelled the appointment, but I’m glad I didn’t. Reassurance that I’m not the fucked-up person Leah claims I am would be great about now.
Once I park and make my way inside, I pull out my phone to check if any of my kids texted me. I sign in with the front desk and read what, Rhett, my oldest sent me.
Rhett: How did court go?
I hate that I sometimes treat my son as more of a best friend or confidant, but he’s the only one who truly understands the dynamics of our situation.
Accused me of unthinkable things with Addison.
Rhett: Are you fucking serious?
The judge wasn’t buying it. Still, she’s determined to somehow prove something that isn’t there.
Truth is, I’m tired. So damn tired of fighting with this woman.
