Chapter 28 Jonathan
Jonathan
The Fitness and Wellness Expo at the Javits Center buzzes with energy—thousands of people weaving between booths displaying supplements, resistance bands, athletic wear, and every wellness gadget imaginable.
I'm here promoting my YouTube channel and the free series I've been developing for families who need help exercising more.
Claire is with me, representing her growing wellness practice. She's been expanding beyond traditional chiropractic, incorporating nutrition counseling and holistic health coaching.
"This is insane," she says, watching the crowd from our booth. "How many people attend these things?"
"Tens of thousands over the weekend. It's good exposure—for both of us." I hand her a water bottle. "You okay? Need to sit?"
"I'm fine. Stop treating me like I'm fragile."
"You're working twelve-hour days building a practice while raising a baby. I'm allowed to check in occasionally."
She softens, squeezing my hand. "Fair. But I'm good. Actually thriving, believe it or not."
We're manning the booth together, fielding questions about our respective work, when I see him.
Chad. Claire's ex. The manipulative bastard who controlled and diminished her for three years, who tried to claim Rowan was his despite the fact it was literally impossible, who's made periodic attempts to cause trouble over the past year.
He's walking directly toward us, purpose in his stride, phone in hand already recording.
"Claire," I say quietly. "Don't turn around, but he's here."
Her entire body tenses. "Chad?"
"Yeah. And he's recording. This is planned."
Before I can strategize, Chad arrives at our booth, phone extended, capturing video.
"Claire Pierce," he announces loudly, drawing attention from nearby booths. "Or is it Claire Miller now? Or Hayes? Or DiMarco? Hard to keep track when you're sleeping with three men."
People are stopping, staring. This is exactly what he wants—a public spectacle with Claire humiliated and defensive.
But Claire doesn't shrink. She stands tall, meeting his gaze directly.
"It's none of your business really," she says calmly. "And what I do in my personal life isn't your concern, Chad. It hasn't been for a long time now."
"It becomes my concern when you're flaunting your perversion at public events. Representing yourself as a healthcare professional while living in some kind of sex commune—"
"Careful," I interrupt, stepping beside Claire. "That's defamation. We have lawyers who love these cases."
"I'm exercising free speech—"
"You're harassing my partner at her place of work. That's not free speech. That's stalking."
Chad's face flushes. "Your partner? How does that work exactly? Do you take turns? Is there a schedule? Does the baby even know who her father is?"
"Our daughter knows she has four parents who love her," Claire says firmly. "Which is more than you ever offered anyone."
"That baby could be mine—"
"She's not," Stuart's voice cuts through the crowd. He and Dane are here and had gone to check out some new neuro supplements but now they’re back. Just in time to help me deal with this asshole. "Claire already told you she wasn't pregnant when she left you. We've been over this."
"Look who’s here. Dr. Stuart Miller," Chad sneers. "The distinguished neurosurgeon slumming with his midlife crisis girlfriend and her harem. How does the hospital board feel about their department head living like this?"
"The board has no issues with my personal life," Stuart says, his voice arctic. "Unlike some people, I'm competent enough that my professional performance speaks for itself."
"And you," Chad turns to Dane. "The author who is exploiting his perverted lifestyle for book sales. Writing children's books about your sick arrangement—"
"The bestselling children's book about diverse families?" Dane's voice is mild, but his eyes are sharp. "The one that helps thousands of children see themselves reflected in literature?"
A crowd has gathered. Phones are out, recording. Chad's phone is still raised, capturing everything.
"You're all disgusting," Chad announces for his video. "Corrupting a child with your deviant behavior. Someone should call CPS—"
"Someone did," I interrupt. "You did. Three months ago. They investigated and found a happy, healthy baby being raised by four devoted parents in a stable, loving home. Case closed. Anything else?"
Chad's confidence falters. He wasn't expecting us to be prepared, united, unashamed. He wanted a reaction, but he’ll never get one.
"Claire, you don't have to live like this," he tries a different tactic, his voice going soft, manipulative. "You're better than this. You could have a normal life, a normal family. You could—"
"I have exactly the family I want," Claire interrupts. "Three partners who respect me, support my career, share parenting responsibilities equally, and treat me like an equal instead of a possession. That's not deviant. That's revolutionary."
"You're brainwashed—"
"I'm done," Claire says firmly. "You need to leave. Now."
"This is a public event—"
"It's a private event on private property," Stuart corrects. "You're not registered, you're not a vendor, and you're harassing attendees. Security!"
Two security guards are already approaching—Dane must have signaled them.
"I'll leave," Chad says quickly, backing away but still recording. "But this isn't over. People need to know what you are—"
"People do know what we are," Dane says calmly. "We're not hiding, we're not ashamed, and we're not going away. But you are."
The security guards escort Chad out, his protests echoing through the expo hall. The crowd disperses slowly, some people shooting us sympathetic looks, others clearly disturbed.
"That could have gone worse," I say once we're alone again.
"He recorded everything," Claire points out. "He's going to post that video—"
"Let him," Stuart says. "We came off well. Calm and united. He’s the one that looked unhinged."
"Stuart's right," Dane adds. "His video will actually help us. It shows we're handling harassment with dignity, and we're protecting our family. That's good optics."
Claire leans against me, some of her bravado fading now that the adrenaline is wearing off. "I hate that he still has the power to rattle me."
"He doesn't," I assure her. "Look at what just happened. He tried to humiliate you publicly and instead humiliated himself. He tried to divide us and we stood together. He has no power anymore, Claire. None."
The rest of the expo passes without any other issues, though several people approach to express support. By the time we're packing up, Claire's confidence has returned.
"We should celebrate," I suggest. "It’s been a long day."
"We should make sure Rowan's okay," Stuart counters, ever practical. "Lottie's been watching her for most of the day."
"She's fine," Dane says, checking his phone. "Lottie just sent photos. Rowan's having the time of her life. I think Lottie bought her a drum set."
"A drum set?" Stuart's horror is palpable.
"Never underestimate Lottie's ability to spoil the hell out of our little girl," I laugh. “Next she’ll be buying her a pony to keep in the backyard.”
That evening, after we’ve had the most amazing Italian dinner in Chelsea, after we've retrieved Rowan from Lottie's house—and yes, there's a tiny drum set— after we've put our daughter to bed and collapsed in the living room, the day's events finally settle over us.
"Chad posted the video," Dane says, scrolling on his phone. "It's getting attention."
"Bad attention?" Claire asks nervously.
"Actually, no. The comments are mostly supportive. People are calling him out for harassment. Several parenting groups are sharing it as an example of how not to treat your ex." He shows us his screen. "And look—three news outlets want to interview us about polyamorous parenting."
"No," Stuart says immediately.
"Why not?" I challenge.
"Because we have a baby. Because Claire's building a practice. Because I have a career—"
"That you've already defended publicly," Claire interrupts gently. "Maybe sharing our story helps more families than it hurts us."
"I'll think about it," Stuart gives in, which from him is practically agreement.
Later, after Stuart and Dane have gone to their offices to work—Stuart on research, Dane on his next sci-fi novel—Claire and I remain in the living room.
"Thank you," she says suddenly. "For today. For standing beside me."
"Always. That's not negotiable."
"I know. But still—thank you." She's quiet for a moment. "Do you ever wish this was simpler? Just you and me?"
"Honestly? No. I love what we have. All of us together."
"Even with the complications?"
"Especially with the complications. A lot of the good stuff in life is complicated." I pull her closer. "You okay? Really?"
"Yeah. Seeing Chad today—it reminded me how far I've come. A year ago, I would have crumbled. Today, I stood strong."
"You did. You were incredible."
"We all were." She shifts to face me. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"Do you think about the future? Five years, ten years from now?"
"All the time," I admit. "I see Rowan starting school, explaining our family to confused teachers. I see us navigating her teenage years, all four of us trying to present a united front while she plays us against each other like kids do. I see graduations and weddings and grandchildren eventually."
"Grandchildren?" She laughs. "We're planning that far ahead?"
"Why not? We're in this for life, aren't we?"
"We are," she confirms. "All of us. For life."