She narrows her eyes and changes the subject, with a fucking smile, “Men like you don’t stay.”
I lean forward now. “Women like you, a woman locked up, because you have no regard for your own child’s life or anyone else for that matter, don’t get to comment on men like me.” Her smile falters. “You forfeited custody,” I continue calmly. “You gave that away when you chose to put her in harm’s way. This is not about pride. This is about Lucy.”
She tilts her head. “You think I don’t love her.”
“I think love without action is just noise.”
Silence, except for the officer who caught that and shifts by the wall.
She taps one manicured-ish nail against the table.
“You’ll never be her father.” I simply shrug. “But you want to be.”
“I already am.”
She studies me differently now, measuring. “You’ll get tired.”
“No.”
“She’s wants more than?—”
“I know what she wants.”
“She has trauma that?—.”
“So do I.”
That one surprises her, but she keeps on going. “You’re very sure of yourself.”
“I am very sure ofher.”
I slide the pen closer.
“If you contest this later, I will make your life more complicated than it already is. Legally, publicly, thoroughly.”
Her lips thin. “You threatening me?”
“I’m informing you.”
Another beat of silence.
“You think she can replace me.” Her voice shakes, in rage, not sadness.
“You’re in here for almost killing your daughter.” I nod to the paperwork, and she stares at it. “Not a hard thing to do.”
“You’re an arrogant piece of shit.”
“I’m prepared.”
She finally picks up the folder and flips through it slowly. “You think this little domestic fantasy of yours will last?”
I tilt my head slightly. “You know what lasts?” She doesn’t answer. “Action.”
“Her father will never let you adopt her.”
I don’t blink. “He already signed.”
Her hand tightens around the pen as she gasps, “What?”
