Chapter 13 - Grant Was Not In The Delivery Room
My mother drove me.
Rachel met us at the hospital.
Owen and Maisie stayed with neighbors they trusted.
Grant learned I was in labor through Caroline.
He requested permission to come.
I said no.
Then spent twenty minutes crying because I had said no.
Rachel didn't tell me I was right.
She held the cup while I drank water.
Elise was born at 4:18 in the morning.
Healthy.
Loud.
Angry at light.
I held her against my chest and thought about every version of this birth I had imagined.
Grant cutting the cord.
Grant crying.
Owen and Maisie coming in wearing matching shirts.
None happened.
That did not make this version unreal.
Rachel took one photograph.
Only after asking.
Later, Grant requested a picture through the attorneys.
I almost refused.
Then I asked myself whether refusal protected me or punished him.
I sent one.
No message.
He replied through Caroline:
Thank you.
Nothing more.
Two days later, Owen and Maisie met their sister.
Maisie stared.
“She looks weird.”
Owen said:
“All babies do.”
Elise yawned.
Maisie screamed happily.
For fifteen minutes, nobody mentioned court, Sloane, Grant, recordings or lawyers.
Then Owen asked:
“Does Dad know her?”
I looked at him.
“He knows she was born.”
“Has he seen her?”
“A picture.”
“Is he her dad too?”
“Yes.”
“Can he meet her?”
I breathed slowly.
“Not yet.”
Owen accepted it.
Maisie asked:
“Because he's in trouble?”
“Yes.”
She thought about that.
“Will he always be in trouble?”
“I don't know.”
That answer no longer felt like failure.
When we returned home, there were flowers on the porch.
No sender visible.
Rachel immediately said:
“Don't touch them.”
I laughed despite myself.
“What?”
“You have ruined flowers forever.”
She inspected the card.
Hospital gift shop.
From Grant.
One line:
For Elise. No answer needed.
Rachel handed me the card.
“What do you want to do?”
“Put them inside.”
She did.
No speech.
A week later, Caroline called.
Grant wanted to propose a temporary parenting agreement before the next hearing.
He was willing to continue supervision.
He would not seek immediate access to the baby.
He wanted regular video calls with Owen and Maisie.
And he wanted me to move back into the marital house with the children while he stayed elsewhere.
I stared.
Months earlier, he had tried to force me out of that house.
Now he was offering it.
Rachel asked:
“You want to go back?”
I pictured the kitchen.
The drawer.
The steel ladle.
Owen against the cabinets.
Maisie's hands over her ears.
“No.”
Rachel nodded.
“What do you want?”
I looked around the smaller rental.
Baby bottles.
School papers.
One laundry basket overflowing.
Nothing upscale.
Nothing impressive.
Nothing Grant had chosen.
“This.”
It surprised me how quickly the answer came.
Not forever.
May you like
For now.
I wanted the place where nobody had to win possession in order to stay.
