It’s our usual Friday afternoon rendezvous and I’m catching my breath, still coming down from my orgasm. Kate is curled into my side, cheeks still flushed, a soft look of satisfaction on her face. Her leg is tangled with mine, her head on my chest. Sex usually leaves us loose, buzzing, playful. This time…she’s quiet. Wrapped around me with a kind of trust that hits deeper than anything physical.
My fingers drift up and down her spine, slow enough that she melts further into my chest. Her breaths fall into a steady rhythm. There’s something almost peaceful about this moment right here, where she’s not planning three steps ahead, not guarding herself.
“Hey,” I say softly, brushing my thumb along her arm. “You’re quiet. Where’s your head at?”
She doesn’t lift her cheek from my shoulder. Doesn’t shift away. She just exhales, warm against my skin.
“You don’t want the answer,” she murmurs.
“I do,” I tell her. “Always want to know what’s going on in there.”
A faint laugh escapes her—small, vulnerable, the kind she’d never let anyone else hear. “It’s just…heavy.”
I wait. I know better than to fill the silence she’s still navigating.
“We had mediation prep this morning,” she finally says. “My lawyer asked me to outline parenting goals. Holiday schedules.” Her breath hitches. “And then he talked about Daniel’s likely counteroffers. He said the words ‘shared time’ like it was inevitable.”
A tightness coils in my chest. “I’m sorry.”
“I told myself I was ready to face all of this,” she whispers. “But hearing someone talk about Evie like she’s a logistical detail instead of the tiny human I’ve built my whole world around…” Her voice thins. “It wrecked me more than I expected.”
I slide my hand to her back, grounding her against me. “That’s what makes you the amazing mom you are though, she’s your world. And don’t let your mind wonder with possibilities, you’re not losing anything, Kate.”
She shakes her head slightly. “I’m being realistic.”
“No,” I say gently. “You’re being scared. And that’s okay. But don’t think that it’s the same as losing.”
She shifts just enough to look at me, eyes shining with the weight she’s carrying. I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my thumb trail along her jaw. She leans into the touch before she realizes she’s doing it.
“My lawyer said the court will look at the whole picture,” she whispers. “Stability. Resources. Support systems. All the things Daniel and Elizabeth have that I don’t.”
The words land heavy in my chest. Sharp, unfair and infuriating.
But beneath all that is something deeper—a clarity that slides into place with surprising ease.
She feels like she’s doing everything alone. She’s terrified. She’s strong, but she’s tired. And she’s not wrong—the court does care about optics. They want a picture they can place a tidy stamp of approval on.
I swallow hard.
“Kate,” I say softly, brushing my thumb across her collarbone. “Daniel doesn’t get to come in after nearly five years and declare himself the better option. Judges look at more than bank accounts.”
“But they also look at family structure. And—”
Her voice breaks. And that’s when the thought becomes a decision.
I’m not trying to be impulsive or rash. It doesn’t come as a grand gesture or a declaration of love I’m not supposed to say yet.
My mind is just…clear.
“What if we give them what they’re looking for?” I ask.
She blinks, confused. “What does that mean?”
I sit up a little, guiding her with me until she’s leaning against the pillows. Her bare skin is still warm, her breathing still uneven as I look in her eyes.
“It means,” I say slowly, choosing each word with care, “that you already have everything they want to see. You’re stable. Responsible. You’ve built a home for Evie. You’re an amazingmom.” I pause. “But what you don’t have—what the court might see as a benefit—is a partner in the picture.”
Her breath catches. “Cam…”
