Chapter 6: What She Was Willing to Do
I didn't move from the kitchen table.
I sat with the pen in my hand and listened to the ceiling and understood, with a clarity that felt almost calm, that Victoria had just made her position plain.
She wasn't trying to protect Thomas.
She had never been trying to protect Thomas.
She was trying to win — and I had become the obstacle she needed to remove before she could.
The drawer closed.
Her heels crossed the floor above me.
The light under the study door went dark.
I finished writing and went to bed.
---
In the morning, Thomas woke early.
I heard him before anyone else did — the soft sounds he made when he was coming out of sleep, not crying, just announcing himself to the world.
I went to him before Victoria could.
He stood in his crib with his arms up.
I lifted him.
He pressed his face into my neck the same way he had the night before, and I held him and walked to the window and showed him the garden in the early light, the way I did every morning.
"Bird," he said, pointing at the oak tree.
"Bird," I agreed.
He was satisfied with that.
He pointed at the sky.
"More bird."
"More bird," I said.
"Lots of birds."
He leaned his head on my shoulder and watched them.
That was when Victoria appeared in the doorway.
She was dressed already, fully composed, not a thing out of place.
She looked at Thomas in my arms and then at me, and her expression did something careful and controlled.
"Put him in his chair," she said.
"I'll feed him this morning."
Thomas's fingers tightened on my shoulder.
I looked at Victoria.
"Of course," I said.
I carried Thomas to his high chair and settled him in.
He looked up at me with an expression I recognized — the one that meant he was deciding whether to protest.
I touched his hand once, lightly, and he stayed quiet.
Victoria moved to the refrigerator.
She took out the container of Thomas's breakfast — the soft oats I prepared each evening — and spooned it into a bowl without looking at him.
She set it in front of him.
Thomas looked at the bowl.
Looked at me.
"Eat your breakfast, Thomas," Victoria said, her back already turned.
He picked up the spoon.
Tried.
Dropped it.
Picked it up again.
Victoria didn't turn around.
I stood by the counter and watched and said nothing.
---
Mark came down at seven.
He looked at the three of us in the kitchen — Victoria at the counter with her coffee, Thomas in his chair, me by the window — and something moved across his face that he quickly controlled.
"Good morning," he said.
"Good morning," Victoria said.
She smiled at him.
"I was just telling Elena that I'd like to take Thomas to my mother's this weekend.
Give you some space to work."
Mark poured coffee.
"I wasn't aware your mother was in contact."
"We've been speaking again.
For a few months." She lifted her cup.
"It would be good for Thomas to meet her properly."
"We'll discuss it," Mark said.
"Of course." She set her cup down and picked up her bag.
"I have a lunch today.
I'll be back by four." She touched Mark's arm as she passed.
"Don't let Elena fill his head with nonsense while I'm gone."
She said it lightly.
The way you say something you want to land without sounding like it landed.
The door closed behind her.
Mark looked at me.
"Her mother," I said quietly.
"Victoria told you they were estranged."
"Two years ago.
Yes." He sat down across from Thomas.
"She said they hadn't spoken in years."
"Last night," I said, "I heard her on the phone.
She was talking to someone about the hearing.
She said she needed something from my past before we walked into the courtroom." I paused.
"She said she didn't care how they got it."
Mark was quiet.
Thomas held out a spoonful of oats toward his father.
An offering.
Mark took it.
Ate it.
Made a face that was almost a smile.
"Thank you, buddy."
Thomas looked pleased with himself.
"David called this morning," Mark said.
"The forensics firm imaged the server last night.
The footage is preserved." He looked at me.
"He also found something in the guardianship filing.
A second witness statement.
Filed last week.
We weren't given a copy — it was submitted under a procedural motion we didn't catch."
"Who signed it?"
Mark reached into his jacket pocket and set a folded page on the table.
I unfolded it.
The name at the bottom was one I had not expected.
Dr.
May you like
Raymond Holt.
Patricia's husband.
