Chapter 32 Warren
THIRTY-TWO
Warren
It’s been nearly a week since Janie served me the papers. Nine days of silence.
The petition still sits on my dining table, pages splayed open like a wound I can’t close. I know every step that comes next—response deadlines, hearings, discovery, and mediation. I’ve walked a hundred clients through it.
But this time it isn’t strategy. It isn’t leverage. It’s Janie. It’s Beckett. And no matter what the statute says, I know the truth: once papers are filed, nobody walks away unscathed.
I pace the hardwood, bare feet dragging, the silence of the condo squeezing until my chest aches.
I pick it up, the weight of the pages too familiar in my hands. Sole physical and legal custody. I’ve drafted the same language for clients a hundred times. I know it’s a starting point, an opening salvo.
By filing my own petition, I killed any chance of civil conversation. I put on the lawyer’s hat because I didn’t know how else to talk to her. Procedure, law, written boundaries—I hid inside what I know best.
And now here we are. It didn’t have to be like this.
I check my phone again. Nothing. Eight unanswered texts. Five calls sent straight to voicemail.
I pour coffee I don't need. It's my third cup, and it's not even seven. My hands shake slightly, either from caffeine or lack of sleep. I can't tell anymore.
This isn’t a legal matter. It never was. Yet here we are, hiding behind attorneys and petitions instead of talking like we used to—two people who once sat across kitchen tables like family, when honesty came easy.
I set the mug down hard.
Fear of vulnerability got me here. That’s mine. That’s the scar from being abandoned and cast out.
But I also carried something that was theirs. The Carter way. My father and brother never loved anyone but themselves. They took shortcuts, hid behind contracts, money, and manipulation. When things got messy, they filed papers or threw power at it.
And I did the same when I filed that petition. I chose the safety of statutes over the risk of speaking my heart. Procedure over vulnerability. Control over connection.
Margaret was right. I’ve spent my whole life trying not to make waves, keeping my head down so I wouldn’t get cast out again. But meekness isn’t safety. It’s just another way of losing the people I can’t bear to lose.
So no more contracts. No more avoidance. No more hiding behind black and white.
If I risk everything—Blake’s friendship, Janie’s trust, even the only family I’ve had in years, at least I’ll know it was because I fought for the one thing that finally matters.
Her. Beckett. Us.
I grab my keys from the hook by the door. The petition goes into my leather portfolio. I bring it as a reminder of my mistake. The weight of it is everything I didn’t say when she asked me to be honest.
She wanted to know where I saw us. What the future looked like. I hid behind the moment, behind my anger, behind fear.
If she won’t take my calls, then she’ll hear it face-to-face. Not legal arguments. Not half-answers. The truth I should’ve given her from the start.
She needs to know that the truth has always been that I want her. I want Beckett. I want a life with both of them.
No more proxies. No more paperwork. Just Warren and Janie, deciding if there’s still something left to save.
Before I can overthink it, I've got my shoes on, keys in hand, and I head for the car.
By the time I turn onto her street, the fire in my chest is a blaze I can’t put out. Janie’s house comes into view, the morning dew still glistening on the lawn where Beckett’s toys lie scattered. My son’s toys.
I park at the curb and walk fast up the path, every step heavier with the silence between us.
My fist crashes against the door. The sound reverberates through the quiet street, more like a demand than a request.
Footsteps. Then the door swings open.
She’s in jeans and a loose sweater, hair pulled into a messy ponytail, dark circles smudged beneath her eyes. Even through the exhaustion, her beauty hits me. But her arms fold across her chest, a shield between us.
For a moment, I take her in, the familiar citrus of her shampoo drifting out, hitting me in the gut.
“Is Beckett here?” I ask, my voice low.
Her eyes narrow, weighing me. “No. You can’t just show up like this, Warren. We’re supposed to go through the attorneys.”
“I know,” I say, the words scraping out rough. “And I hate that. I’m not here to see him. I’m here because this—” I gesture between us. “This can’t be settled on paper.”
Her arms fold tighter across her chest. “My attorney told me not to talk to you without an agreement in place.”
The words are cold, practiced. But her voice wavers at the edges, like she hates saying them.
“I’m not here as an attorney,” I say. “No filings. No petitions. Just me. Will you please hear me out?”
She studies me, the silence stretching long enough that I brace for the door to slam in my face.
Instead, she exhales, shoulders dipping ever so slightly. “How can I trust you’re not here to trick me again? You never told me you were doing this. I thought we were working through it, and then I was blindsided. You really hurt me, Warren.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I should’ve been stronger, braver. I should’ve handled it better. All I want now is to say the things I should’ve said sooner. I’ll do the talking. Just listen. Then, if you want me gone, you can slam the door.”
Her jaw tightens. Then, softer: “Five minutes.” She steps aside. “That’s all you get.”
I cross the threshold, notes of orange and lemon wrapping around me, familiar and brutal all at once.
The door closes with a thud, and with it, the resolve I walked in with wavers. My hands, steady on the walk up here, tremble now at my sides.
The den is frozen in the life I almost had. The tree we picked out together still glows in the corner, branches heavy with the ornaments Beckett insisted on hanging low where his hands could reach.
Beckett’s drawings cover the refrigerator.
Before I can take a breath, her voice slices through the quiet. “Why, Warren?” Her arms drop, her eyes bright with hurt that makes my gut twist. “Why make me believe we were healing, that we were moving toward a future together, when you were already plotting as a lawyer?”
“I wasn’t—”
“No,” she cuts me off, her voice rising. “You let me fall for you again. You let me believe we could be a family. And the whole time, you had a petition ready to rip it all apart. Was any of it real?”
"Janie—"
"Warren, I raised him by myself."
Heat rises in my chest, my apology burning to ash before it reaches my mouth. “Because I didn’t know!” The words explode out of me. I came with the intention of making a truce, but the rage inside of me bubbles out. “I didn’t know he existed, Janie. You never told me!”
“I tried!” Her voice cracks with fury and something deeper. “I called until I realized you blocked me. You knew I tried to reach out several times before you did. And then I remembered when you told me you didn’t want to be a father. So I had to make a choice.”
“That’s not fair,” I bite out. “You gave up. One roadblock, and you decided my son didn’t need me.”
Her eyes blaze. “Don’t you dare stand there and say I decided that. I was twenty-three. Alone. Pregnant. Terrified.”
We’re standing three feet apart, shouting about the years we lost, but underneath the anger is grief. Raw, painful, soul-gripping grief. And buried under that, what I came here to say: I don’t want to lose another day.
My chest is suddenly so tight that I can't breathe, like something's going to burst. I pace across her living room, three steps one way, turn, three steps back. Just like when I'm building an argument in court.
"I was protecting myself. It had nothing to do with you and me."
"You were scheming and withholding. That is different. It didn't have to go down like this, Warren. I don't trust you now."
"You don't get to lecture me about hiding things." The words fly out before I can stop them. "Four years, Janie. Four fucking years of his life—gone."
Janie's hands shake, but her finger jabs toward me, steady and accusing.
"God, it's like you can't even see how what you did, the way you did it, alienated us both.
I always would have let you see Beckett whenever you wanted, whether you chose me or not.
I'm not that kind of person. I thought you knew me. "
"What about how you alienated me five years ago when you didn't tell me?"
"I already told you—"
"That you tried a few measly texts and gave up? That's not good enough! You could have called my office or called from another phone!”
We're both shouting now, voices bouncing off the walls where Beckett's finger paintings hang in bright, cheerful frames. This house that once felt like refuge now feels like a battleground.
"What was your plan, Warren? Were you going to serve me those papers in bed? Maybe after I went down on you?"
"I wasn't going to serve them at all if things worked—"
"If I behaved? If I fell in line with whatever you decided was best?"
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and I hate it. I hate the pain I see there, hate every angry word spilling from my mouth, but I can't seem to stop. My fear keeps me swinging.
"You think I'm the villain here?" My voice drops dangerously low. "You stole years from me. Years I can never get back."
"I was alone and scared! What was your excuse for that petition? Were you alone? Were you scared when you wrote it? Or just calculating your next move like the lawyer you are?"
Her accusations slice deeper because I know how it looks. My move looks like betrayal to her. Because it was.
"You're right," I admit, my voice suddenly hollow.
She blinks, clearly not expecting that.
"I was scared. Terrified. I've spent my career watching parents use their children as weapons. I wanted... insurance."
"Against me." Her voice is barely audible. "The person you were sleeping with. The mother of your child."
I stare at the woman I've been fighting falling in love with for years, the mother of my son, and all I see now is an adversary. The air between us vibrates with things we can't take back.
"I never wanted this," I say, gesturing between us. "This legal bullshit. But you forced my hand."
"I forced your hand?" Janie's voice rises, raw emotion scraping her words.
"What are you even talking about? I did nothing but show you how sorry I was, give you time, and open my home up.
You had those papers drawn up while you were reading bedtime stories to our son!
While you were in my bed! I found it, you didn't show me. "
My chest heaves as I try to control my breathing, to lower my voice. Everything inside me is tearing apart.
"I don’t trust you. I can still show up for him. Those are different muscles. I can use both."
"Ouch. I get it."
"I don't want to fight you, Janie," I say, my tone dropping raw. "But I will. If it's the only way I get to be his father, I'll fight you."
The words aren't what is in my heart. It's not what I want, but I have to take a stand. I don't want courtrooms and custody schedules. I want morning pancakes and soccer practice, and Christmas trees. I want to come home to them. I want the future that felt possible just days ago.
This isn't how this was supposed to go. How did we get here?
We're inches apart now, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her hazel eyes, close enough that her breath mingles with mine. Our anger is intimate, too personal to be anything but heartbreak.
Her eyes shine with tears, and my instinct is to wipe them away, to kiss her, to undo every jagged word we've thrown at each other.
But pride wins. I step back instead.
"I can't lose him again," I whisper, and what I don't say hangs between us: I can't lose you either.
But some admissions come too late.
“Your five minutes are up, Warren. Thanks for coming.”
“Janie, wait—please. I came here to tell you—”
Her hand lifts, sharp, final. “I don’t want to hear another word. Not now. Maybe not ever. I should have taken my attorney's advice. I never should have let you in.”
Her voice cracks, but her spine stays straight. She points to the door.
The words burn my tongue, desperate to spill, but her eyes are steel as she physically guides me out.
I can’t force them past the wall she’s thrown up. Not like this.
I walk out with nothing but silence and the sound of the lock sliding into place behind me.