Chapter 7 - THE CHILDREN HE USED AS LEVERAGE
Cole's next move was predictable.
He threatened to seek sole custody.
Rebecca had warned me it might happen.
Still, reading the legal filing made my hands shake.
Cole claimed I had removed the children without explanation.
He suggested I was emotionally unstable.
He described himself as a devoted father.
I read the document twice.
Then I looked at Rebecca.
"Can he take them?"
She spoke carefully.
"Custody decisions depend on the children's best interests and the evidence. We will respond through the court."
I nodded.
We prepared records.
Pediatrician appointments.
Medication schedules.
Messages showing Cole's repeated absences.
Evidence of the financial restrictions.
Photographs of the bruising on my wrist.
I also provided the names of people who had witnessed his behavior.
Maya.
Our former nanny.
The pediatric nurse who had seen me bring both babies to appointments alone.
At the temporary custody hearing, Cole sat across the room wearing an expensive suit.
He looked composed.
Confident.
Almost bored.
When my attorney presented the records, his expression changed.
The judge asked him about the children's medical care.
He struggled to recall the name of their pediatrician.
He did not know Lily's current medication schedule.
He couldn't explain why he had refused to come home on Christmas Eve.
The court issued temporary arrangements designed to protect the children's welfare while the case continued.
I remained their primary caregiver.
Cole received parenting time subject to the court's conditions.
Outside the courthouse, he approached me.
"Lauren."
I stopped.
Rebecca stood beside me.
Cole lowered his voice.
"You're embarrassing me."
I looked at him.
"No."
He frowned.
"Excuse me?"
"You're embarrassed because people are seeing what you've done."
His jaw tightened.
"You think your grandmother's money makes you powerful?"
I held his gaze.
"No."
I glanced toward the courthouse.
"It means I can afford to tell the truth."
Cole stared.
For the first time, he had no immediate answer.
May you like
I walked away.
And I did not look back.
