40. Julian #3
“I think I don’t trust anyone connected to Celeste right now.
That might be unfair to them if they really didn’t know, but unfair doesn’t matter more than Mila’s safety.
So, if you ever talk to them, it should be through Mara first. Maybe a call with lawyers.
No private meeting. No sudden visit. No access to Mila until they’ve been checked and you’re ready.
And if they say one wrong thing about you or her, they can fuck off forever. ”
Eli’s expression softens in a way that makes my chest ache. “That’s actually reasonable,” he says.
“I’m occasionally capable.”
“Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late.”
Mara’s expression remains professional, but there’s warmth at the edges now. “That is essentially what I would suggest. We can begin with communication through counsel only. If they request contact, I can control the channel. You do not need to make a decision today.”
Eli nods, his face a mix of relief and exhaustion. “Then not today.”
“Good,” I say immediately, then clamp my mouth shut because apparently, I’m still learning.
This time Eli almost smiles.
Almost.
Mara gathers the folder. “I’ll send a summary of this in writing.
For now, focus on the inspection. Keep the outbuilding clean, safe, and stocked.
Make sure medications, cleaning supplies, and anything hazardous are secured.
Mrs. Alvarez already asked for the checklist, so I suspect it will be handled better than most professionally managed daycare facilities. ”
“Mrs. Alvarez is scarier than the court,” Adrian says solemnly.
Ryan nods. “She told me I hold bottles wrong, and I haven’t recovered.”
“You do hold bottles wrong,” Eli says automatically.
Ryan points at him. “Betrayal.”
The small normal moment loosens something in the kitchen.
Not enough to erase what Mara brought in with her.
Not enough to make Celeste found, charged, or punished yet.
But enough to remind everyone that Mila still needs bottles, Ryan still needs supervision, and life has the audacity to continue even while justice gears up in the background.
Mara says her goodbyes, speaks quietly with Killian in the hall for another minute, and leaves with the same composed intensity she arrived with. The second the front door closes, Eli’s shoulders finally drop.
I crouch beside his stool without thinking, putting myself closer to his level. “Hey.”
He looks at me, Mila nestled between us, her tiny fingers now caught in his shirt. “Hey.”
“You okay?”
He exhales slowly, then gives me an honest answer. “I don’t know.”
I nod. “That works.”
His mouth lifts faintly. “That works?”
“For now.” I rest one hand lightly on Mila’s back, careful not to cover his. “She’s closer to staying yours on paper. That’s the part I’m holding onto.”
His eyes go wet immediately, and he looks down at her fast. “Yeah.”
“And Celeste is going to pay.”
His jaw tightens. “Eventually.”
“Eventually counts,” I say, though my own voice goes rough. “Not enough. Not fast enough. But it counts.”
Eli’s hand shifts, catching two of my fingers against Mila’s back. He holds on there, hidden by the tiny duck sleeper and the curve of his daughter between us. No one else says anything for a second. Maybe they don’t notice. Maybe they do and finally have the decency to pretend otherwise.
“I don’t know about her parents,” he admits.
“You don’t have to know today.”
“What if they’re good people?”
“Then they’ll understand why you’re careful.”
“And if they’re not?”
I let the protective thing in me show this time, because some answers deserve teeth. “Then they’ll never get close enough to find out what shampoo Mila uses.”
That gets a real laugh out of him, small and wet and exhausted. “That’s weirdly specific.”
“I’m a detailed threat.”
“I know.”
He looks at me then, and all the noise of the kitchen drops back for one second.
His parents are gone. Celeste is missing, and her parents are a question mark.
The courts are coming to inspect the home Killian built so nobody can claim Mila is unstable or unwanted.
The flash drive exists, but our night exists too.
This morning. My tears and his panic. Mila’s little body is warm between us while the whole house stands around waiting to go to war or make breakfast, whichever becomes useful first.
I squeeze his fingers once. “We’ll take the inspection first,” I say.
Eli nods slowly. “Then whatever comes after.”
“Yeah,” I say, because I won’t give him the cheap version of together as if it fixes everything, but I can give him the truth of my body beside his and my hand under his. “One thing at a time.”
Mila chooses that moment to spit up on the front of Eli’s shirt.
For a moment, he just stares down at the mess.
Ryan, the traitor, bursts out laughing first while Eli closes his eyes and sighs. “Perfect.”
I reach for a cloth from the island while Liam starts giving Ryan a lecture about respect during infant reflux incidents, and the kitchen erupts around us again. Loud, ridiculous, alive. Eli takes the cloth from me and wipes Mila’s chin with such gentleness that my chest aches all over again.
Justice can take time.
Custody can take paperwork.
Family can become a battlefield.
But Mila is here. Eli is here. And for today, the next thing is not Celeste or court or some new terror waiting at the door.
It’s a spit-up stain, a duck burp cloth, and the man I love trying not to laugh while calling his daughter a tiny menace under his breath.