“Then let’s get on with it,” Rose said.
Chapter 29
Rose
January 30th
The angry letter to Jeremy sat in her drafts folder for two weeks. It was three lines written at midnight—words she wanted to say to him directly, without a lawyer in the room. Every time she opened it, she read it once and closed the tab.
She didn’t send it. Reiss had told her not to contact him, and he was right. That was the problem with being an adult: you knew the correct choice, you made it, and it didn’t make you feel any better.
By late January, the world had moved on with its usual, indifferent momentum. Quinn was everywhere—his reality fame had landed him a high-end toothpaste commercial that seemed to loop on every screen in the house. Kayla had finally settled into the pool house, relishing the quiet, while Rose and Daisy had completed their migration into the main house.
But the anvil of Jeremy’s custody filing hung over them, invisible and heavy. The days were full, yet fractured. Rose went through the motions well—confirming vendor emails, helping Daisy with her homework, and playing the part of the successful entrepreneur. In the evenings, she sat with Lizanne on the sofa and let herself be held. She tried not to think about Jeremy Planter reading a tabloid and deciding there was something in her life left for him to take.
Lately, though, the closeness felt brittle. Lizanne was distracted. Her phone would buzz on the mahogany coffee table,and she would snatch it up with a sharp, frantic intensity. She’d spend long minutes staring at the screen, her jaw set, before offering Rose a distant, practiced smile.
“Just work,” Lizanne would say, her voice sounding like it was coming from the other side of a glass wall.
The only reason Rose did not allow herself to think more about it was that she didn’t have the bandwidth.
***
The morning of January 30th arrived gray and cold. Rose lay awake, running through the legal timeline: the filings, the hearings, the months of exposure. Lizanne slept beside her, but even in sleep, she looked tense, one hand curled into a fist on the pillow.
By nine, the living room was a hive of activity. The camera team was setting up for the confessionals. Quinn was sprawled on the rug, helping Daisy with a star chart. Everything was as it always was.
They were filming a quiet moment in the kitchen when Rose’s phone buzzed on the counter. Daniel Reiss. Her stomach dropped. She motioned to Loraine for the camera to move out. She did.
She picked up before the second ring. “Daniel.”
“Rose,” his voice was measured. “I have news. Jeremy Planter’s lawyer contacted me an hour ago. He’s withdrawing the filing. All claims dropped.”
Rose stood very still. Behind her, the espresso machine hissed. “It’s over?”
“It’s over. I suspect he realized that years of unpaid support wouldn’t play well in discovery.”
She hung up and turned around. Lizanne was already watching her. She had read it in Rose’s face before a word was said.
“He dropped it,” Rose said.
Lizanne crossed the room. She took Rose’s face in both hands and kissed her forehead, then held her. There was no performance in the hug, just the weight of another person choosing to be there. Rose pressed her face against Lizanne’s shoulder and exhaled a breath she’d been holding since the first letter arrived.
“I don’t understand,” Quinn said. “Why would he leave with nothing? That’s so not Jeremy.”
Lizanne shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Rose nodded along, although inside, she had to admit, it was odd. This whole event had been like a flash in the pan. The sudden demand for custody. The threats. And now, a few weeks later, he gave up?
Just like that? Without so much as a single news story leaked?
It didn’t add up. And yet, as she looked at the way Lizanne had lifted Daisy up, both laughing before returning to the star chart they’d been working on for a few days, she decided that perhaps her mother was right and she should take the win when it presented itself.
And yet, something wasn’t right here. Not at all.
***
The desk in Lizanne’s home office was a masterpiece of mid-century minimalism, but tonight it felt like a cage. She kept her eyes tracked on the script for the new season, yet the lines blurred into a haze. Every time she heard the floorboards creak in the hallway, Lizanne’s heart did a jagged little stutter.
