“Hey,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have texted you, I just—Brynn’s gone until Wednesday and I didn’t want to wake my mom and everything feels—”
“Kate,” I cut in, trying to keep my voice calm. “Tell me what’s going on.”
But she’s unraveling too fast to slow herself. Words spill hard and messy, her breaths come too quickly. “I knew something like this could happen one day, but I still—Evie’s asleep and I’m standing in my kitchen staring at this paper and I don’t—”
“Breathe, Katie.” My tone lands firmer, meant to anchor her. “In.”
A shaky inhale answers me.
“Now out.”
Another breath. Then two.
“Good. Talk to me.”
Silence. A heartbeat. Then—
“Daniel filed for joint custody.”
Everything in me goes rigid. “Daniel?”
She lets out a ragged breath. “Evie’s dad.” There’s a pause. “Evie’s dad is Daniel McMichael.”
My brain pieces it together slowly. Evie’s father is the son of Cedar Falls’ mayor.
“I got served this evening,” she whispers. “He wants fifty-fifty. Shared time. He has alawyer.”
Her voice splinters. I hear it. Feel it. It crawls under my ribs.
She explains between uneven breaths—the lawyer, the phrasing, the legal words meant to sound neutral but cut like blades. She chokes halfway through. “He hasn’t seen her in over a year, Cam. He forgets her birthday. He sends enough money to cover juice boxes and that’s it. And now he wants to—”
Her breath breaks. Soft, but enough to wreck me.
I grip the back of my neck, jaw tight, fury burning through my veins like acid. I want to find Daniel McMichael and make him understand exactly what he abandoned. What he hasn’t earned.
But she doesn’t need my anger right now. She needs ground to stand on.
“Listen to me,” I say, low, clear. “He’s not taking time with Evie from you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” I reassure her. “You’re a damn good mom. She is safe with you. Loved with you. No judge is going to miss that—you think anyone could spend five minutes with Evie and not see it?”
Her inhale breaks, softer this time. “You sound so sure.”
“I am.” There’s no hesitation in me. “Daniel can try to rewrite history, but he isn’t rewriting what the two of you built without him. You hear me?”
A faint, shaky, “Yeah.” There’s a pause before she continues, “Thank you. I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”
“You’re not dragging me anywhere.” The response comes easy. “If you need to fall apart, I’ll be right here to help you through it.”
A small laugh slips through, wet around the edges. “You always know what to say.”
“That’s what coaches do best,” I say. “Now drink some water. Wash your face and crawl into bed.”
“I’ll try.” Another quiet moment. Then she breathes, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Cam.”
The admission hits harder than it should. I close my eyes, chest tight in a way that isn’t pain so much as possibility.
