Chapter 1
Chapter One
Maggie
There was something different about him. I could tell from the moment I met him that he wasn’t going to be like the others.
So many of them didn’t care, not really+. They sought me out because of some suspected obligation, or maybe to avoid being thought of as a ‘bad guy’ if they didn’t make some attempt.
But hey, if they showed up for a few meetings, put in some type of effort for a couple of weeks before realizing it was going to be a longer, more time-consuming process than they thought, then they could walk away with a guilt-free conscience, telling themselves, at least they tried.
If you could call it that.
But this man?
It was clear from the darkness beneath his eyes and the hollowness to his very presence that he lived and breathed for his children.
That the past few weeks without them had haunted him more than any words could express. The same could not be said for so many of the ones who came to me before him.
“Mr. Reilly?” I asked, staring at the man in the chair outside my office, whose face was cradled in his hands.
His head popped up, back straightening, as if he were ashamed to be caught in a moment of human vulnerability.
I couldn’t say I didn’t know the feeling.
“Ms. Brynn.” He stood to his feet immediately, straightening himself out.
I could tell that he’d tried his best to look presentable for our meeting, with his button-up shirt that was in dire need of an iron, and the trousers that might’ve fit him a few years ago, but were now past the point of being considered ‘snug.’
And to top the whole look off, a worn-out, raggedy scrap of a Red Sox cap sat atop his head, as if it were such a staple to who he was he might’ve forgotten to take it off.
Yes, he was different. I could tell.
“Hi,” I held my hand out to him, “it’s nice to officially meet you after all the emails.”
“Thank you for meeting with me.” He stood, grasping my hand in a firm shake.
He was thanking me—and he meant it. That alone was a good sign. So many men who came through here carried a quiet resentment toward me, as if I were the one keeping them captive for these custody meetings, rather than them choosing to give up a few hours of their week to fight for their children.
“Come into my office, we can talk about your case there.”
I held the glass door open, gesturing for him to go first. He hesitated, as if he might have some notion that a lady should enter first, before heading inside.
“I know we’ve discussed the basics of your case during our phone call, but I’d like to go over it again, if that’s okay.”
I smiled, trying to convey to him that he could relax, ease the tension set in his shoulders. I was here to be his ally, after all. I was fighting for his side.
“Is that your daughter?” he asked, knee bouncing as he nodded towards a photo on my desk.
I looked down, smiling at the picture of the little blonde clutching a piece of watermelon with a wide grin.
“My niece,” I corrected. “Lily.”
“She’s cute.”
“She takes after her aunt.” I laughed.
It was a lie. She didn’t look like me at all—except for those green eyes. The Brynn eyes.
Besides that, she’d managed to come out as the perfect combination of both her parents, though I still had hope she’d inherit my sparkling personality, at the very least.
Mr. Reilly ran a hand over his baseball cap, and by the faraway look in his eyes, I wondered if he was thinking of his own children.
I cleared my throat.
“So, just to recap our prior conversation, could you tell me a little bit about your situation?”
“Sure,” he nodded, “uh, well, my wife—shit, I mean my ex—well, the divorce isn’t finalized yet, in fact, it’s not even started, but—” He let out an exhale. “I’m sorry, a lot has changed really fast. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it all.”
“That’s fine,” I assured him, “but you’re anticipating this separation between the two of you to be… permanent?”
He swallowed. “Looks like it.”
“Tell me about the kids,” I said, typing a few lines onto the document I’d opened for his case. “What’s the custody arrangement now?”
“There isn’t one.” He stared at me with pain in his eyes. “She’s not letting me anywhere near them.”
I nodded, having heard it all before.
“Is there a history of drug use? Criminal charges?”
“Jesus, no,” his eyes widened. “We were fine. We were just a normal family until—” He paused, lowering his eyes to the floor, “until I screwed up.”
“Can you elaborate on that?” I furrowed my brows.
“I’m not proud of it,” he stated, “in fact, it’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life, but I cheated. Just once. But it was enough to get me sitting here in your office.”
I kept my face neutral. I wasn’t here to judge. I was a professional.
“Anyway, my wife—ex-wife- kicked me out as soon as she found out. “Hasn’t let me back home or near the kids since then. That was about three weeks ago, now.”
I typed.
“I know—” He started with a faltering voice, “I know that what I did was unforgivable. But I’m not a bad man. I deserve to lose my wife, I know that. But not my children.” He choked up. “Not my babies.”
He looked away, scratching at his eye as if there were a speck of dirt irritating it, rather than emotion.
I paused, fighting the urge to assure this man that everything would be okay. I knew better than to make promises like that to people.
But I was going to try.
“I understand,” I told him, meeting his tear-filled eyes. “Right now, it’s about showing the court that you’re capable of providing a good life for your children. You’re employed, I assume?”
He nodded. “I work in construction. I’ve been with the Local 223 since I got started working.”
Good job. Consistent pay. Great benefits.
I could tell by the calloused hands he kept wringing that this man was a hard worker. The courts liked that. It was all too easy for them to deny custody to someone on account of being unable to provide for their children.
Besides, this guy seemed like a fighter. Five minutes with him and I could already tell he would go to ends of the earth for his kids.
It caused something in my heart to ache. I wanted to help him. Needed to, even.
Kids shouldn’t have to grow up without their father. No matter what type of relationship their parents might have.
“Okay,” I told him, adding a few more lines to the document before turning my focus back to him.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to file a petition for temporary visitation rights, and in the meantime, I suggest you sign up for parenting classes or enroll in therapy, maybe?
The court loves to see that stuff. It proves you’re willing to go above and beyond. ”
“I am.” He assured me, “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“In regards to the mother,” I said, not wanting to step on his toes by referring to her as his ex, when clearly he hadn’t reconciled himself to that fact yet.
“I would keep contact limited. Nothing that could escalate the situation further. You don’t want to give her any ammunition to use against you. ”
He nodded, face furrowing as if the enormity of the situation overwhelmed him.
“It wouldn’t do me much good anyway. Not like she’s answering my calls.” His knee bobbed as he spoke. “I never thought I’d be sitting in an office for this reason.”
I could tell that he meant it.
Most people went into marriage with the best of intentions, never imagining that they’d end up part of that horrible statistic that haunted the back of my mind.
I understood what so many people didn’t. Parents were human. They made mistakes. They screwed up like any other person. It didn’t mean they didn’t deserve forgiveness or second chances.
“Don’t worry,” I went against my better judgment by saying. “It’s going to be okay.”
I said it because I wanted it to be. Because I had faith that I was capable of making that happen for him. Not only because I had a gut feeling about it—I did, and was seldom wrong when it came to those—but there was more to it than that.
Because any man who put the time into fighting for his children? That was a man who deserved to be in their lives.
When his eyes met mine, I knew without him even having to say it: He was putting his faith in me.
And I didn’t plan on screwing up.