Chapter 4 - The Morning After
At 8:00 AM, my phone buzzed violently on the nightstand.
I was sitting on the edge of Wren’s bed, watching her sleep. She looked peaceful now, her breathing deep and even, no longer curled into a defensive ball.
I picked up the phone. It was Corinne.
I swiped and put it on speaker, keeping my voice level. "Hello, Corinne."
"Julian Vance, what is wrong with your house?!" she shrieked instantly. Her voice was trembling with early-morning panic. "I came back to grab my winter coats and some clothes for Desmond, and the smart lock on the front door won't recognize my thumbprint! The garage won't open! And my banking app is locked out!"
"You're not getting back in, Corinne," I said calmly.
"Open this door right now! That’s my home too!"
"It was never your home," I replied, standing up quietly so as not to wake Wren. "It was a stage you used while you starved my daughter and stole forty thousand dollars from her college fund."
A sharp intake of breath hissed through the speaker. For three seconds, there was absolute silence.
"Who... who told you about the fund?" she whispered, the bravado completely vanishing from her tone.
"Arthur pulled the server logs, Corinne. And the financial audits. And the video files of you locking a five-year-old child in a pantry while you screamed at her."
"Julian, listen to me," she babbled frantically, her voice pitching up into desperation. "It was just tough love! Kids manipulate situations! My sister told me—"
"Pack your things," I interrupted. "Actually, don't bother. I'm having your remaining boxes packed and shipped to your sister's address in Ohio by Tuesday. If you ever come within five hundred yards of me or my daughter again, I won't just file for divorce for financial fraud and child abuse—I'll make sure every court in this state sees the footage Arthur downloaded last night."
"You can't do this to me!" she wailed. "You'll ruin my reputation! What am I supposed to tell people?!"
"Tell them whatever you want," I said, and ended the call, blocking her number permanently before the beep could finish.
I tossed the phone onto the bed, walked over to the window, and pulled the blinds open wide. The morning sun was breaking through the Birchgate Lane maples, casting warm, golden shafts of light across the hardwood floor.
Wren stirred in her sleep, rolling over and blinking her big brown eyes open. She looked up at me, blinking sleepily.
"Daddy?" she murmured, rubbing her nose.
I walked over, sat on the edge of the mattress, and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. "Morning, bug. How are you feeling?"
"My tummy feels good," she said softly. Then, her eyes widened slightly, like she was checking for a rule she might break. "Am... am I allowed to have breakfast today?"
The question broke something small and fragile deep inside my chest, but I swallowed hard, forced a bright smile, and stroked her hair.
May you like
"Every day, baby," I promised, my voice thick with emotion. "Pancakes, eggs, bacon, fruit—whatever you want. The pantry is open. It’s always going to be open."
She smiled—a real, wide, carefree smile that I hadn't realized I had been missing for over a year—and threw her arms around my neck.
