34. Cora
Chapter thirty-four
Cora
T he cracks in the plaster have become my constant companion. I haven’t budged from my bed in three days. I trace them with my eyes, following the jagged lines as they stretch across the ceiling, splitting and branching like veins. They remind me of how fragile everything is— one wrong move, and it all breaks apart.
I blink, but my eyes are dry, raw from the tears I no longer have the energy to shed. This time the heartbreak cuts deeper, and more final.
It’s not just James—although his absence has left a gaping hole in my heart. It’s Jonathon too. I didn’t know him, not really, but the loss is still sharp and real. My chest hurts when I think about him, how his life was cut short the day after we created a child. It’s a vicious kind of cruelty, one that digs deep and twists, leaving its mark on my soul. And Leo… My sweet boy will never know his father. The thought churns in my stomach, nausea creeping up the back of my throat. For all these years, I’ve held onto a quiet hope that Jonathon might reappear. That one day I’d tell Leo, “This is your father.” Now that hope is gone, crushed under a truth that can’t be undone. Hope is a nefarious little bitch that will get you every time.
I haven’t eaten. I haven’t slept. Every time I try to close my eyes, I see James. His face, twisted with anger, then hollowed with the revelation of Jonathon. The devastation in his eyes wasn’t just about me. It was about the brother he lost, and the future he never knew he’d been deprived of. The loss was shared, but we’re not grieving together. James has shut me out completely. Not a single text, not one call. Nothing. The silence is deafening.
I turn onto my side, curling into the fetal position, clutching the pillow as if it might anchor me to reality. But even that feels futile. How do I go back to work, to the same building where I’ll see him every day? How do I move on when the mere thought of James feels like a knife twisting deeper with each breath?
God, I miss him.
The only thing that’s kept me tethered these past few days is Leo. He’s sneaked into my room a few times, climbing into bed beside me, his tiny body warm and comforting against mine. He doesn’t know why I’m sad, just that I am. And in his innocent way, he’s tried to make me smile, showing me drawings, telling me stories. But even his visits can’t keep me upright for long.
Thank God for Dad. He’s been picking up the slack—feeding Leo, taking care of him, keeping our lives running while I fall apart. But I can’t keep this up. I can’t lie here forever. The world is moving on, whether I like it or not.
And deep down, I know I need to be a mother again. My son deserves better than a hollow shell of a parent. He deserves me—whole, present, fighting. For him, if nothing else. The thought carries me through the fog of despair, but it’s like dragging myself through sludge.
When Saturday rolls around, I force myself out of bed, weak legs carrying me to the bathroom. I glance at my reflection in the mirror, wincing at the pale, gaunt version of myself staring back. My eyes are hollow, rimmed red from exhaustion.
I splash cold water on my face, hoping it will jolt me back to life. I don’t have the luxury of wallowing anymore. My boys need me. Life needs me.
Eden has been a godsend, but the place reminds me of James. Every corner of that club is linked to him, and the thought of going back there makes me uneasy.
But I’ve got debts to pay. A future to secure for Leo. And if that means working two jobs, gritting my teeth, and facing James again… so be it. My family comes first, always.
As I get ready for my bar shift at Eden, I go through the motions mechanically. I only hope that I can make it to the end of the night without breaking down into a blubbering mess.
Waiting for my rideshare in the living room, I pull out my phone and start sifting through work emails. The thought of returning to the office on Monday turns my insides sour, but the emails piling up in my inbox demand my attention. I’ve only been away for five days, but I already have sixty unread messages. I let out a huff, deleting half of them and responding to the rest.
Crossing paths with James is inevitable. But I’ll handle it. I have to. I can’t avoid him forever. But if I’m honest with myself, the very idea of seeing him again—those cold, detached eyes—rips me apart. And yet, I know I can’t run. Not anymore.
After finishing my work emails, I switch to my personal inbox. Most of it is junk—sales offers, newsletters I never signed up for. But one email stands out, from an unfamiliar sender. White & Day Lawyers.
My heart stops for a beat, and before I even click on it, dread coils tight inside me. I know what this is. I know without even reading it that James is making his move. My hands tremble as I open the email, the subject line making my blood run cold: Re: Leonardo Rossi—Legal Notice.
The words blur as I try to focus, my breath hitching in my throat. I force myself to read it. Slowly. Carefully. Each sentence is a slap to the face.
Mr. Hayes has initiated legal proceedings to establish paternity of Leonardo Rossi through a court-ordered DNA test. Pending confirmation of Jonathon Hayes’s paternity, arrangements will be made for a formal trust fund for Leonardo Rossi. Furthermore, Mr. Hayes will be seeking visitation rights and partial custody as Leonardo Rossi’s paternal uncle.
My vision swims and I drop my phone onto my lap, my hands clenching into fists.
He didn’t even call me .
Not a conversation, not an attempt to sort this out between us like adults—he went straight to the lawyers.
Anger boils through me, but it’s the overwhelming sense of powerlessness that pisses me off. James knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s rich, powerful, and connected. And me? I’m just scraping by, working two jobs, trying to keep my head above water. What am I supposed to do against someone like him?
I pick up the phone again, forcing myself to read the email a second time, though it doesn’t change. My eyes catch on the words trust fund and partial custody . He’s not asking. He’s telling. He’s dictating how this is going to go.
A strangled laugh escapes my throat, but there’s nothing humorous about it. How could he do this without even talking to me? The email is clinical, impersonal—like this is just another business transaction for him. Just another item to tick off his list.
But this isn’t just business. This is my son . My entire life.
I press my fingers to my temples, trying to will away the throbbing in my head. The thought of James entering Leo’s life this way… it feels wrong. And yet, I can’t stop him. Even if I wanted to fight this, I know I can’t. I don’t have the resources, the money, or the power to stand up to him.
A bitter taste rises in my throat as I realize what this really means: I’m trapped. Legally, financially, emotionally—there’s no escape. I can’t afford a lawyer who could even begin to challenge James’s legal team. He could take Leo from me piece by piece if he really wanted to.
I squeeze my eyes shut and the email appears behind my lids, as if it’s been burned into my retinas. The DNA test doesn’t bother me—that’s a formality. But the rest… visitation, custody—James has all the power now. And I hate him for it.
How dare he use his money to force his way into Leo’s life like this? How dare he reduce us to legal proceedings when all he had to do was pick up the phone and talk to me?
The anger rises again, laced with a darker force. Fear. Because I know this is only the beginning. James is asserting his dominance—claiming his territory. And it doesn’t matter that I would have willingly allowed Leo to know his uncle, would have worked something out if he’d just asked .
But that’s not what this is about. This is about control. This is about him making sure I know my place—that he holds all the cards now.
I blink back the tears gathering in my eyes, the frustration and hopelessness burning inside me. My mind spins, thinking of all the ways this could go wrong. What if he pushes for more? What if he tries to take Leo from me entirely?
No . I won’t let that happen. I can’t.
Without thinking, I grab my phone and open my message thread with James. My fingers fly over the screen, the words spilling out before I can second-guess them.
Next time, just ask! I would have happily introduced you to your nephew. Oh, and I’m doing okay by the way… thanks for your concern.
The passive-aggressiveness barely scratches the surface of what I want to say, but it’s all I can manage. The three little dots appear, showing that he’s seen it, and for a second, my heart leaps into my throat. He’s going to respond.
Please, just say something.
Anything.
But then they disappear.
I blink, gripping the phone so hard my knuckles turn white. Seconds drag by, and I find myself staring, willing the dots to reappear, willing him to care enough to respond.
But there’s nothing. Just the empty screen staring back at me, a reflection of the void between us.
He’s really not going to answer.
The rideshare pulls up outside, and I throw my phone into my purse, fighting back tears of anger threatening to spill.
What an asshole.
As I climb into the car, I know this battle is only just beginning.