Chapter 6: Open the Gate
I was already dressed when the buzzer sounded at eight-seventeen.
My mother was in the kitchen with Donovan, cutting fruit into small pieces the way she always had — careful, unhurried, as if the world outside had nothing to do with the table in front of her.
She looked up when I came in.
"He's here?" she asked.
"Yes."
She set down the knife.
"Do you want me to take Donovan upstairs?"
"Please."
She lifted him from his chair without a word.
He protested briefly, reaching for a piece of mango, and she tucked it into his hand as she carried him out.
I listened to their footsteps on the stairs.
Then I pressed the gate release.
Caden came in alone.
He'd changed clothes since yesterday — pressed shirt, the kind he wore to meetings.
He'd combed his hair.
He was trying to look like the reasonable one.
He stepped into the entrance hall and looked around slowly, taking in the high ceilings, the pale stone, the wide staircase.
I watched his face move through something he was trying to keep off it.
"We need to talk," he said.
"I agree."
I led him to the sitting room off the hall.
Two chairs.
A low table between them.
I sat.
He sat across from me.
"Taylor, I understand you're upset.
Yesterday was—"
"Caden." I kept my voice level.
"What is your full legal name?"
He blinked.
"What?"
"Your full legal name.
The one on your birth certificate."
A pause.
Small.
But there.
"Caden Shaw.
You know that."
"Is it?"
His jaw shifted.
"What kind of question is that?"
"The kind I'd like you to answer."
He leaned forward, switching tactics.
"Look.
I know my mother was out of line yesterday.
And I should have stepped in.
I'll admit that.
But taking Donovan out of the house without telling me—"
"Caden Merritt-Shaw," I said.
He went still.
"The property in Scottsdale," I continued.
"Joint tenancy with Diane Merritt.
Purchased nine years ago." I watched his face.
"MSR Consulting Group.
Nevada LLC.
Dissolved.
Fourteen months of vendor payments from your former employer that went to an account your mother controlled."
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
"And Sasha Vidal," I said.
"Maricopa County.
Eight years ago.
No divorce on record in the state of Arizona."
The color left his face so quickly it was almost clinical.
"Taylor—"
"Don't." My voice didn't rise.
"Don't tell me it's complicated.
Don't tell me you were going to explain.
Don't tell me it wasn't what it looks like."
He stood up.
"You don't understand the full situation—"
"Then explain it.
Right now.
In this room.
With no lawyers, no phone calls, no time to prepare a story." I looked at him steadily.
"Who is Sasha Vidal?"
He walked to the window.
His back was to me.
"She was someone I knew before you," he said finally.
"It was a mistake.
We were young.
It was never a real marriage."
"The county clerk's office disagrees."
He turned around.
And for the first time since I had known him, I saw something in his face I had never seen before.
Not anger.
Not charm.
Not the easy confidence he wore like a second skin.
Fear.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
"That depends entirely on what you do next," I said.
"Sit down, Caden.
We're not finished."
He sat.
And his phone — the one I could see in his shirt pocket — began to ring.
He didn't answer it.
May you like
But I saw the name on the screen before he turned it face-down against his knee.
It said: *Sasha.*
