"I don't know, baby."
"Emma's mom said I'm famous now. Like Dad." She looked up at me with those blue eyes. "I don't want to be famous."
"I know." I started the car, checking the mirrors for anyone following us. "I don't want you to be famous either."
"Can I stay home from school tomorrow?"
Every instinct screamed yes. Hide her. Protect her. Keep her safe from the cameras and the questions and the judgment.
But I couldn't. Hiding hadn't worked before. Hiding had created this mess.
"No, baby. We're not going to hide. We're going to hold our heads up and live our lives, and eventually people will get bored and leave us alone."
I said it with conviction I didn't feel.
Casey was quiet for a long moment. "Did Dad have to deal with this when he was famous?"
"Your dad's been dealing with this his entire career."
"Then how does he stand it?"
I thought about Easton’s anger issues, the assault, the desperate need for control that had led to therapy and community service, and that sealed bottle of whiskey.
"I don't think he stands it very well," I admitted. "But he keeps showing up, anyway. And that's what we're going to do, too."
In the rearview mirror, I saw the black sedan pull out behind us.
They were following us home.
I kept driving, hands tight on the wheel, and called Easton.
"There's paparazzi following me home from Casey's school," I said when he answered. "They were waiting outside. They took pictures of her. They shouted questions at a six-year-old."
"I'll meet you at the house in fifteen minutes. And those photographers? They're about to learn what happens when you go after my daughter."
Easton showed up forty minutes later with Chinese takeout and a grocery bag full of Casey's favorites, including chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, and apple juice boxes. Comfort food for a day that had been anything but comfortable.
He'd taken one look at my face when I opened the door and pulled me into a hug without saying a word.
"What did you do?" I asked when I finally pulled back.
"I called campus security first and had them clear the parking lot. Then Sunny." His voice was controlled, but I could hear the fury beneath it. "We're filing for restraining orders. They can't come within a hundred yards of this building, Casey's school, or the clinic. If they violate it, they'll be arrested."
"Will that actually work?"
"It'll work for the ones who care about jail time. The rest…" He exhaled. "I'm hiring private security for school pickups. They start tomorrow."
I wanted to argue about the cost, about the necessity, but I'd seen the fear in Casey's eyes. "Okay."
We tried to make dinner feel normal. Easton set out the food while I got Casey washed up. But when we sat down at the table, Casey just stared at her plate.
She'd barely touched her chicken nuggets. Her mac and cheese sat untouched, cooling into a congealed mass.
"Sweetheart, you need to eat something," I said gently.
Casey pushed a nugget around with her fork but didn't pick it up.
Easton and I exchanged worried glances over her head.
