13. Jo
— ? —
Jo
Rory turns seven on a Saturday, and for one whole day the world lets us be ordinary.
His arm is still in the cast, covered in dinosaur stickers and signatures from every kid in his class, and as far as he’s concerned it’s a war medal, brandished at every guest until someone agrees it makes him look super cool.
Two weeks out from the fall he has no memory of it left in his body, tearing around the apartment at full speed, and watching him I can finally breathe again.
I throw the party in our cramped apartment because that’s where he wanted it and nowhere fancier, and it’s dinosaurs floor to ceiling, paper plates with cartoon raptors, a lopsided green cake I stayed up until one in the morning frosting.
Grace brings a balloon shaped like a brontosaurus that’s taller than the birthday boy.
Three kids from his class come and shriek and knock things over and it’s perfect.
Nick comes too. I told him he didn’t have to, that it would be loud and sticky and beneath a man with a corner office, and he showed up forty minutes early to help me hide plastic dinosaurs around the apartment for a hunt.
He’s on the floor now in his expensive trousers, letting four seven-year-olds bury him under couch cushions, doing the growly T-rex voice that makes Rory laugh until he gets the hiccups.
When it’s time for presents, he hangs back until last. His gift is small and wrapped badly, clearly by his own hands. Inside is a real fossil, a genuine ammonite, ancient and spiraled and perfect in a little wooden box.
“It’s a hundred million years old,” he tells Rory, very serious. “Older than the T-Rex. I figured the world’s leading meteor scientist ought to own a real one.”
Rory goes completely silent, which never happens, and holds it like it might shatter, and then throws both arms around Nick’s neck hard enough that they nearly tip over together. Over my son’s shoulder, Nick looks at me, and there’s something in his face I haven’t let myself name yet.
Later, after the kids have gone and Rory has fallen asleep with the fossil still in his fist, Nick and I do the dishes side by side, the way we did the very first night.
No danger. No notes. No Matthias. Just warm water and his shoulder against mine and the easy quiet of two people building something on purpose.
I want to keep this. Not the drama, not the fight. Just this. This is the thing worth winning.
The Hargrove project was a success. Nick handled the presentation himself while Rory was in the hospital, and the firm landed the account.
My name is all over the designs, the atrium I fought for, the sustainable materials I insisted on, the vision I defended in late-night arguments over takeout containers.
Triumph should be the feeling filling my chest.
Instead, there’s just the constant sensation of being watched.
The threatening notes have stopped, but looking over my shoulder has become second nature. Checking locks twice. Jumping at shadows. Starting at every unexpected sound, every unfamiliar face, every flash of movement in peripheral vision.
Tuesday afternoon arrives gray and cold, the kind of day that turns the office into a fishbowl. The design I’m working on refuses to cooperate, the lines all wrong, the proportions off, and my attention keeps drifting to the window where rain streaks down the glass.
Then a familiar flash of blonde hair makes my blood run cold.
No. It can’t be.
But it is.
Brittany Calloway, no, not Calloway anymore, the realization dawning with sick certainty as a massive diamond catches the fluorescent light, is walking through the office with the confidence of a woman who owns it.
Her heels crack against the polished floor, gunshots, each step deliberate, confident, aimed directly at my desk.
Seven years. Seven years since this woman was riding my husband on our couch, and here she is, looking exactly the same. Beautiful. Poisonous. Wearing that same cruel smile she never took off.
The nausea rises fast and bitter.
The pieces click into place one by one. The diamond. The confidence. The way she’s moving through Anderson Architecture like she belongs here.
She married him. Brittany married Matthias.
Of course she did. Of course the woman who helped destroy my marriage ended up with the prize.
Why wouldn’t she? That’s how these stories always end, the other woman wins, gets the ring, gets the man, gets to pretend she’s the victim while the actual wife picks up the pieces of her shattered life alone.
“Well, well.” Brittany stops in front of my desk, arms crossed, eyes raking over me with undisguised contempt. “The little ex-wife herself. I heard rumors you were working here, but I had to see it with my own eyes.”
I make myself stand. My legs are unsteady. “Brittany.”
“You remember me! I’m touched.” Her gaze continues its assessment, cataloging every flaw, every imperfection. “You look... tired. Single motherhood must be exhausting.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Visiting my husband’s office. Is that a crime?” The head tilt is practiced, innocent. “Oh, did no one tell you? Matthias and I got married. Gorgeous ceremony in the Hamptons. You weren’t invited, obviously.”
The knowledge that Matthias moved on was always there, of course. But knowing and seeing are different things entirely. Seeing Brittany standing here, wearing a ring that probably cost more than my entire apartment, married to the man who broke me...
“Congratulations.” The word tastes like ash. “You two deserve each other.”
Brittany’s smile sharpens. “We really do. He tells me everything, you know. About your pathetic little marriage. How you trapped him. How you went crazy when he tried to leave.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Isn’t it?” She steps closer, voice dropping to a hiss. “I know exactly what happened, Jo. I was there, remember? I watched you fall apart. It was honestly a little embarrassing.”
The shaking in my hands makes clenching them into fists necessary. “You were fucking my husband. While I was pregnant with his child.”
Something flickers in Brittany’s eyes. Surprise, maybe. She didn’t know about the pregnancy. Interesting.
But she recovers fast, the mask sliding back into place. “Ancient history. What matters now is that you’re here, in my husband’s company, sniffing around his brother like a bitch in heat.”
“I’m doing my job.”
“You’re spreading your legs for both Anderson brothers. Don’t pretend otherwise.” Her voice rises, drawing attention from nearby desks. Coworkers are looking up, pretending not to watch, ears straining to catch every word. “Everyone knows what you are. A gold-digger. A manipulator. A whore who...”
“That’s enough.” The words come out steady, even though my heart is pounding hard enough to crack ribs. “You should leave.”
“Or what? You’ll tell Nicky on me?” Brittany’s laugh is high and sharp. “Please. I know what you’re doing. Worming your way into this family, playing the victim, trying to steal everything that belongs to me...”
“Nothing I have belongs to you.”
“Matthias belongs to me. His family belongs to me. This company...”
“Matthias has probably cheated on you too.”
The words come out calm, factual, cutting clean through Brittany’s tirade. Her mouth snaps shut.
“A cheater will always be a cheater. That’s just who he is, it’s in his DNA.
So maybe stop acting like I’m your enemy when your husband is the one who can’t keep his dick in his pants.
” A shrug, casual, like this conversation isn’t making my stomach churn.
“Ask him about the junior associate. I’ve heard things. You should probably check that out.”
Brittany’s face goes white, then red, the color climbing from her neck to her cheeks. “You lying bitch...”
“Ask him.” Holding my ground, refusing to back down. “I’m not your problem, Brittany. I never was. You just can’t stand to admit you married a man exactly like the one I divorced.”
Her hand shoots out and grabs my arm, hard. Her nails dig in like claws, sharp enough to leave marks.
“Let go of me.”
“Stay away from my family.” The grip tightens, grinding pain into bone. “Stay away from Nick. Stay away from Matthias. Or I will make your life a living hell.” Her smile returns, cold and cruel. “Or maybe your son’s.”
Everything in me goes cold and still. “Stay away from him.”
“He’s family now. Whether you like it or not.” Brittany leans closer, her breath hot against my ear. “And family looks out for each other. Even when mommy isn’t watching.”
“If you go near my son...”
“You’ll what? Hit me?” The laugh is dismissive. “Please. You’re too weak.”
“Is there a problem here?”
Nick’s voice cuts through the tension. He’s standing at the end of the row of desks, his face unreadable, but his eyes are dark with something dangerous.
Brittany spins, her expression shifting instantly to wounded innocence. “Nick! I was just...”
“Leaving.” Nick crosses to us with long strides, stepping in to put his body between Brittany and me before she can take another step. “You’re not welcome in this building, Brittany.”
“This is my husband’s company...”
“This is my company. And you’re disrupting my employees.” His voice is ice, cold enough to burn. “Security will escort you out.”
“Nick, she attacked me...”
“The security cameras will show exactly what happened.” He meets her eyes without flinching. “Would you like me to review the footage?”
Brittany hesitates. For a moment, the mask slips, and underneath is something almost pitiable, a woman clinging to a marriage that’s already dead, looking for someone to blame for the cracks she can feel spreading.
“This isn’t over,” she says finally. “Matthias will hear about this.”
“Tell him whatever you want. Now leave.”
Security arrives, two uniformed guards who materialize from nowhere, their faces professionally blank. Brittany allows herself to be led away, but she turns back at the elevator, her eyes finding mine across the office.
“You think you’ve won something?” she calls. “You’ve won nothing. This is just the beginning.”
The elevator doors close.
The shaking that’s been building finally breaks through. Nick’s hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady.
“Are you okay?”
“She married him.” The words sound distant, like they’re coming from someone else’s mouth. “Brittany married Matthias. The woman who destroyed my marriage is his wife now.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I should have warned you she might show up.”
“She threatened Rory.” The fear crystallizes into something sharp. “She said something about when mommy isn’t watching. Nick, what if she...”
“She won’t.” His voice is fierce, certain. “I’ll hire security. Private school. Whatever it takes. She won’t get near him.”
“We can’t live like this. Looking over our shoulders constantly...”
“We won’t have to. Not forever.” He turns me to face him, his hands on my shoulders. “Matthias has been stealing. For years. From the family, from people who trusted him. I’ve known something was rotten for a long time, and now I can prove it.”
“Stealing?”
“Money that was never his. A lot of it.” Nick’s jaw tightens. “When that gets out, no one hands him a child. Not a judge, not anyone. His whole family will be too busy saving their own name to come after us.”
“And if it doesn’t go public?”
“It will. I’ll make sure of it.”
Looking at him, this man who keeps choosing me, over and over, against his own family, the question that’s been building finally spills out.
“Why? Why are you doing all of this? For me?”
“Because some things are worth the wreckage.” He takes my face in both hands and waits until I look at him. “Because Rory is worth it. Because for the first time I can remember, I have something worth fighting for.”
“Nick...”
“You don’t have to say anything. I just need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. Whatever they throw at us, we’ll handle it together.”
“Together.” The word feels foreign and precious, like something that’s been missing for seven years.
He tucks me under his chin, and for once I don’t pull away.
That night, after Rory is asleep and Grace has gone home, the knock at the door makes my heart stop.
The envelope is thick. Official. The return address is a law firm, one of the most expensive in the city.
Opening it feels like defusing a bomb.
The words swim on the page, legal jargon and formal language, but the meaning is clear enough: Matthias is suing for joint custody of Rory.
The petition cites parental alienation. The petition cites willful concealment of a child.
The petition has the backing of Anderson family lawyers, the best money can buy.
The papers fall from numb fingers.
The war isn’t coming.
The war is already here.