Chapter 8: What Daniel Did Next
He was sitting on the edge of Lily's bed when I got upstairs.
She was already in her pajamas — he must have lifted her out of the bath — and she was leaning against him with her rabbit, half-asleep.
He was reading to her.
Something about a bear and a forest.
His voice was low and even.
I stood in the doorway.
He looked up.
He had heard the front door.
He knew his mother had been here and was now gone.
He looked at me the way someone looks when they have been waiting for a verdict.
I didn't say anything.
I came in, kissed Lily on the top of her head, and sat in the chair beside the bed while he finished the page.
When Lily was asleep, we went downstairs.
He sat at the kitchen table.
I put the kettle on.
We didn't speak until the tea was made and I had set a mug in front of him.
"She told me you recorded the dinner," he said.
"Yes."
"And that you've reported Dr.
Mercer."
"Yes."
He turned the mug in his hands.
"She's going to fight this, Olivia.
You know that.
Whatever you think you have —"
"I have the petition with your signature.
I have the evaluation.
I have an email from eleven months ago showing she planned this before any of it.
I have Claire's testimony.
And I have a recording of your mother offering me money to voluntarily reduce my time with Lily." I sat down across from him.
"What does she have?"
He was quiet.
"Daniel." I leaned forward slightly.
"I need to ask you something and I need you to actually answer me.
Not the answer she'd want.
Yours."
He looked at me.
"Do you actually believe I'm an unfit mother?"
The silence stretched.
"No," he said.
His voice was rough.
"No, I don't."
"Then why did you sign it?"
He put his face in his hands.
It was the first unguarded thing he had done in months — maybe longer.
He sat like that for a moment, and when he looked up, he looked exhausted in a way that went all the way down.
"She said it was just a precaution," he said.
"She said it would never be filed.
She said she just wanted to have it ready in case things got worse.
And I —" He stopped.
"I didn't ask what worse meant.
I didn't ask who decided.
I just signed it because she put it in front of me and I didn't know how to say no to her."
"You never have," I said.
"I know."
"That's not an excuse."
"I know that too."
I wrapped both hands around my mug.
"I'm not asking you to choose a side," I said.
"I'm asking you to be Lily's father.
Fully.
Not as an extension of your mother's plan.
Not as someone who signs things he hasn't read.
Her father."
He nodded slowly.
"What do you need from me?"
"I need a written statement.
Everything you know about how the petition was prepared.
Who initiated it.
What your mother told you.
What you signed and when.
Patricia will draft it.
You just have to be willing to sign it."
He looked at the table.
"She'll cut me off," he said quietly.
"Financially.
She controls the trust.
She's done it before — to my uncle, when he went against her."
"I know," I said.
"I'm asking anyway."
He sat with that for a long time.
Outside, a car passed.
The kitchen clock ticked.
Lily made a small sound from upstairs and then went quiet again.
"Okay," he said finally.
One word.
But it was the first time in four years I had heard him say it to her without her permission.
I called Patricia at nine the next morning.
"He'll sign a statement," I said.
A pause.
Then: "How much does he know?"
"Enough to matter," I said.
"Enough to change the picture."
"Get him to my office by Thursday," she said.
"And Olivia — don't let him speak to his mother before then."
May you like
I looked across the kitchen at Daniel, who was making Lily's breakfast with the careful attention of someone trying to remember how to be present.
"I'll do my best," I said.
