Chapter 46
Laiken
The penthouse feels different now. It’s not necessarily quieter.
How could it be with a boisterous four-year-old tearing through the space like her ass is on fire?
Instead, it feels fuller. Like something has finally settled into place instead of continuing to hover just out of reach.
The sounds overlap, one detail folding into the next.
There’s the soft whir of the heating vents.
Elody’s bare feet padding down the hallway.
Kia’s steady voice reminding her to brush her teeth and put on pajamas.
About how tomorrow is a school day even though everything feels slightly off-balance.
It’s more in the way all the noises fit together. It’s domestic and lived in. A rhythm that hasn’t existed here in a long time.
Maybe not ever.
I lean back against the kitchen counter and watch them without announcing myself, content to remain an observer instead of being in the center of the fray.
Elody hops onto the couch and tucks her legs beneath her, dragging her pink blanket behind her like a tail.
It tangles around her ankles, half forgotten.
Kia follows at an unhurried pace, kneeling in front of her to tug the sleeves of Elody’s pajama top down, smoothing the fabric with an ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times before. There’s no awkwardness in the motion, just instinct.
“You forgot Bunny,” Elody says matter-of-factly.
Kia blinks. “I did?”
Elody nods. “Penny doesn’t like being without him.”
“Well,” Kia says, already pushing to her feet, “I guess we should fix that.”
She doesn’t look at me, pause, or wait for permission.
It’s a small thing.
Smaller than anything a judge will ever care about.
Smaller than paperwork or custody schedules or courtrooms filled with people deciding what they think is best for my daughter.
But it reinforces the quiet certainty deep inside me.
The one I sensed from the very beginning, even when I was afraid to say it out loud.
Where Kia is concerned, my instincts weren’t wrong.
For the past twelve months, it’s been Elody and me.
Our routines became efficient because they had to be.
Lunches were packed the same way every day.
Baths were taken at the same time every night.
Stories were read in the same order without deviation.
It was control disguised as consistency. Protection masked as distance.
It worked because it had to.
Now there’s room for softness and variation, and I don’t know what to do with that.
As much as I hate to admit it, I’m terrified of what tomorrow will bring.
Kia returns from the hallway with the stuffed rabbit tucked under her arm, one ear flopping forward as she beelines toward the couch.
Elody’s whole face lights up. “You’re the best mommy,” she says without awareness of the weight behind that statement.
Kia freezes for half a beat.
So do I.
Air clogs my lungs, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. Kia recovers before I do. With a smile, she hands over the bunny.
“Thank you,” she says lightly, but there’s a wobble in her voice she isn’t quite able to hide.
Elody curls against her side, as if she’s been doing it for years.
When the show they’re watching finally ends, I clear my throat. “All right, bug. Bedtime. You know the drill.”
Elody groans but doesn’t argue. Instead of reaching for me, she takes Kia’s hand before sliding off the couch.
The simple gesture is enough to rock me.
It’s quiet yet seismic. This is what parenting with a partner looks like.
It’s what I’ve been missing since the day my little girl was born, even if I didn’t realize it right away.
In the bedroom, Elody climbs beneath the covers while Kia smooths her hair back with gentle fingers. I stand at the foot of the bed, watching, unwilling to interrupt the moment.
It’s one I never thought I’d see. Someone else loving my little girl the way she deserves to be loved.
“Daddy?” Elody glances at me.
“Yeah?”
“Can Mommy come to school and help out like the other mommies do?”
Kia’s hand stills in Elody’s hair as her gaze lifts to mine. I have to swallow past the thick lump of emotion swelling in my throat before I can answer.
“Probably not tomorrow, bug,” I say gently. “But we’ll talk to your teacher about a day that works.”
Elody nods, satisfied with that response.
Once she’s tucked in, we linger beside her bed, watching as she gets comfortable, clutching both Penny and Bunny. It doesn’t take long for her breathing to even out and sleep to claim her.
We close the door behind us with care.
Once in the hallway, Kia exhales like she’s been holding her breath the entire time. “I didn’t overstep, did I?”
“Of course not,” I say immediately. “You’re so natural with her. It’s like you’ve always been part of her life.”
She studies my face, searching it silently. Maybe looking for doubt. She won’t find it.
“Elody is easy to love,” she says.
The words mean more than she could possibly understand.
I move closer and wrap my arms around her. “She’s lucky to have you. We both are. And just so you know, she loves you right back.”
Her body relaxes against mine. “I’m scared that you’ll lose her.”
“I know.” I press my lips to her forehead, holding her a little tighter. “But I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Later, after the dishes are done, I sit at the dining table with a folder spread open in front of me. There are court documents, schedules, and notes from my lawyer. Words like best interest, environment, and incident stare back at me in stark black ink.
Kia lingers nearby, pretending not to watch.
I trace a finger along the edge of the paper, my mind drifting to a version of tomorrow I don’t want to imagine.
One where someone gets to decide if the life we’ve built is temporary.
Where Elody’s morning routines change and bedtime looks different.
Where Kia becomes a footnote instead of a constant.
The thought knots low in my gut.
I’ve faced pressure before. The kind that determines careers and legacies. Wins and losses measured in headlines and stats. But this is different. It’s not about performance. It’s about the custody of my daughter.
After another fifteen minutes, Kia crosses the room and sits in the chair beside me, close enough for her knee to brush mine.
“You’re not alone in this,” she says simply.
I turn and really look at the woman who walked into my life without a plan and somehow became the center of it. Not just for me, but for my daughter too.
“No,” I agree. “I’m not. I have you.”
And for the first time, I let myself admit the truth, even if only to myself.
Losing control no longer scares me.
Losing this does.
I close the folder and lace my fingers with hers before giving them a squeeze.
I’m not just fighting for custody anymore.
I’m fighting for my family.