"Sit down, Mr. West. I'm not telling you what to do. I'm warning you about what opposing counsel might argue. Better you hear it from me now, than be blindsided in court."
Tyler sits slowly, but he doesn't let go of my hand.
I don't say anything. Ms. Chen has just suggested out loud the thing I have been thinking about, in pieces, since Jessica was in our living room. The thing I haven't let myself fully say. The thing Tyler has just refused to consider on my behalf, in front of a lawyer, while he’s holding my hand under a table.
I let him do that. For now. Because we are in front of a lawyer, arguing about it here would be the wrong way to argue about it.
But I haven't agreed to anything.
"That said," Ms. Chen continues, "Ms. Collins's presence could also work in your favor. It shows Harper has consistent care, a stable home environment, and multiple caring adults invested in her well-being. We just need to be prepared to defend it."
The meeting continues for another thirty minutes. Ms. Chen outlines our strategy: file for emergency custody, document everything, and prepare for Jessica to fight back. She gives us homework: a detailed timeline of Harper's care, character references, medical records, and proof of Tyler's involvement in Harper's life.
We leave with a retainer agreement and a court date pending.
The drive home is silent.
Harper's asleep in her carrier, exhausted from the stressful day, and I'm staring out the window with my hands folded in my lap, thinking.
Tyler reaches across the console for my hand. I let him take it. I don't squeeze back.
He notices. Of course he notices. He doesn't say anything.
We pull into the driveway at six. Tyler unbuckles Harper and carries her inside, while I follow with the diaper bag. The house is quiet, exactly the way we left it, and somehow that's worse, like the world hasn't registered what happened today, like it's just us absorbing it.
I put the diaper bag down. Tyler hands me Harper, who's stirring, and I take her toward the kitchen for a bottle.
"Red."
I stop. I don't turn around.
"Let's get her settled," I say. "We can talk after."
"Okay."
We do the bedtime routine the way we always do. Tyler runs the bath, I get her in pajamas, he gives her the bottle, and I readthe story. The choreography is muscle memory now. Neither of us says anything that isn't directed at Harper.
She goes down at seven-forty-five. We stand in the nursery doorway watching her settle into sleep, the way we always do, and Tyler's standing close enough that I can feel the heat of him.
I move first. Down the hall, toward the guest room.
"Nora."
I stop in the doorway with my back to him.
"You're going in there?"
"Yeah."
"You haven't slept in there in a week."
"I know."
"Red."
I don't turn around. If I turn around, I'll cry. He's still standing in the hallway. I can feel him there.
"Talk to me," he says. "Please."