Chapter 17 Serena
I checked my reflection for the tenth time, smoothing invisible wrinkles from the conservative blouse and skirt I'd chosen specifically for today.
Not too casual—that would suggest I didn't take this seriously.
Not too formal—that would seem like I was trying too hard.
The Pattersons—Sarah's parents, Finn's grandparents, Brad's personal demons—would arrive in fifteen minutes, and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
"You look perfect." Brad appeared in the doorway of the guest room I still officially occupied. "Remember, we've been together for weeks. We met at—"
"The rink, during family skate night. I'm from Texas, taught in San Antonio before moving here for a fresh start." I recited the practiced details, though they felt less like lies now and more like alternative history. "Brad, I've got this."
He crossed the room in two strides, hands framing my face with surprising gentleness. "I know you do. I just—" His thumb traced my cheekbone. "They're going to come at you hard. Sarah's mother especially. She's never forgiven me for not saving her daughter, and seeing you here, in her place..."
"It’s going to be alright," I said firmly, covering his hands with mine.
The doorbell rang before he could respond. Finn thundered down the stairs, shouting about Grandma and Grandpa, and Brad's expression shuttered into careful neutrality. Game time.
Mrs. Patterson entered like she was conducting a raid, her sharp eyes cataloging everything from the fresh flowers on the entry table to the way Brad's hand rested at the small of my back.
Mr. Patterson's friendliness felt forced, his smile not reaching eyes that assessed me with obvious skepticism.
"You must be the teacher," Mrs. Patterson said, making my profession sound like something she'd scraped off her shoe.
"Serena Voss." I extended my hand with practiced warmth, channeling years of difficult parent conferences. "It's wonderful to finally meet you. Finn talks about you constantly."
"Does he?" Her handshake was brief, dismissive. "How convenient that Brad found someone so... helpful... just when he needed assistance with custody arrangements."
The accusation hung in the air like a slap. Brad tensed beside me, but I squeezed his hand in warning. This was exactly what we'd prepared for.
"I can understand your concern," I said smoothly, guiding them toward the living room where I'd strategically placed photo albums and Finn's recent schoolwork.
"Any grandparent would want to ensure their grandson's well-being.
Would you like some coffee? Tea? I made Finn's favorite cookies—he insisted you love snickerdoodles. "
The shift to Finn threw her off balance, as I'd hoped. I'd learned in teaching that redirecting to the child's needs often defused adult conflicts. Sure enough, Finn launched into excited chatter about our cookie-baking adventure, complete with dramatic reenactment of the flour explosion incident.
"Miss Serena taught me chemistry!" He bounced between his grandparents like a pinball. "Baking soda is a BASE and when it meets ACID there's carbon dioxide and BOOM—fluffy cookies! It's basically science magic!"
"You're incorporating science into baking?" Mr. Patterson looked grudgingly impressed.
I settled into my teacher persona, discussing cross-curricular learning and hands-on education, watching their defensive walls crack slightly. Brad brought coffee, his fingers brushing mine as he handed me my mug—prepared exactly how I liked it.
"How long have you been treating Finn's asthma?" She pivoted abruptly, trying to catch me off guard.
"I don't treat it," I responded calmly. "That's Dr. Lisa's role. But I've worked with asthmatic students for seven years, completed pediatric emergency response certification, and maintain detailed logs of Finn's triggers, peak flow readings, and medication schedules."
I produced the color-coded binder I'd created, tabs marking everything from emergency protocols to dietary considerations. Mrs. Patterson's eyebrows rose as she flipped through pages of meticulous documentation.
"This is... comprehensive," she admitted reluctantly.
"Finn's health is the priority," I said simply. "Always."
The doorbell rang like a referee's whistle.
"Oh, did I forget to mention?" Mrs. Patterson's smile could have frozen hell. "I asked social services to join us."
The ambush. Of course.
Ms. Rodriguez entered with the kind of professional warmth that meant she'd seen everything and judged most of it. Her clipboard looked like a weapon.
"Ms. Voss, I understand you're residing here temporarily due to storm damage?"
"The repairs are ongoing," Brad interjected, but I touched his knee gently.
"Yes, though we've been discussing making it permanent." The words emerged naturally, feeling more true than false. "Finn's routine stability is crucial, especially with his health considerations. Multiple transitions would be like... ripping up a plant every time it starts to root."
"And your relationship with Mr. Wilder?"
There it was. The question we'd rehearsed until the lies felt like muscle memory.
"We're building something." The truth slipped out instead, raw and unscripted. "It's messy and complicated and probably moving too fast, but—" I looked at Finn, who was constructing something architectural with his sandwich crusts, oblivious to the interrogation. "Some things are worth the mess."
"She makes octopus hot dogs!" Finn announced to the social worker with the gravity of someone revealing state secrets. "And reads different voices for every character. And doesn't get mad when I use my inhaler during story time even though it makes whooshy sounds."
The social worker's laugh cracked her professional veneer. "Finn, could you show me your room?"
The house tour became my stage. I guided them through spaces I'd quietly transformed—the homework station with sensory tools for focus, the reading nook with carefully curated books addressing emotional regulation, the kitchen with visual schedules and allergy-friendly options clearly labeled.
"You've implemented a therapeutic environment," Ms. Rodriguez observed. "This mirrors best practices for children with chronic health conditions."
"Every child deserves to feel safe and supported," I replied, catching Brad's grateful gaze.
In Finn's room, Mrs. Patterson found her smoking gun—a photo from the field trip, us looking so convincingly familial it hurt.
"You seem... invested." Each word dripped suspicion.
"Love isn't something you measure or contain," I responded, surprising myself with the conviction in my voice. "Finn's easy to love. He's brilliant, funny, and resilient. Anyone would be lucky to be part of his life. I'm grateful Brad trusts me with that privilege."
Something shifted in Mrs. Patterson's expression—not quite acceptance, but perhaps recognition. She'd been a mother once. She understood the fierce protectiveness I couldn't quite hide.
"What happens when you get bored?" Mr. Patterson challenged. "When playing mommy loses its charm?"
The implication that I was temporary, disposable, ignited protective fury I hadn't expected. "With all due respect, that's not—"
"That won't happen." Brad's voice cut through, firm and final. He moved beside me, arm sliding around my waist with possessive certainty. "Serena's not going anywhere. We're not playing anything. This is real, and it's permanent, and if you can't accept that, then we have a problem."
The room fell silent except for Finn's quiet humming as he organized his hockey cards, blissfully unaware of the adult tension.
"I see," Mrs. Patterson said finally, her tone arctic. She turned abruptly, smoothing her skirt with sharp, jerky movements. "Richard, we're leaving."
Mr. Patterson turned to face us, his jaw still tight with disapproval. "We'll be consulting our lawyer about custody arrangements."
"You do what you need to do," Brad said evenly, though I felt the tension coiling through his body. "My lawyers will be ready."
Mrs. Patterson's gaze swept over me one last time. "I hope you understand what you've gotten yourself into, Miss Voss."
They left without saying goodbye to Finn, the door closing with a decisive click that echoed through the suddenly quiet penthouse.
The exhaustion hit me like a physical blow. I sank onto the bed, head in my hands, trying to process the emotional gauntlet we'd just survived.
"Hey." Brad knelt in front of me, his hands warm on my knees, thumbs tracing circles that grounded me. "You were fucking magnificent. They came looking for blood and you gave them a masterclass. There wasn't a single crack because you weren't performing—you were just... you."
"That's the problem," I whispered. "None of it feels fake anymore."
His hands went still. Something detonated behind his eyes—hunger and recognition and relief all tangled together. The air between us crackled, and I could see him fighting for control, losing—
The door burst open like a cops raid.
"Wilder, you magnificent bastard!" Theo filled the doorway, all six-foot-four of cheerful chaos. "Ready to lose your child to the superior uncle?"
"Uncle Theo!" Finn materialized from nowhere, launching himself at Theo's knees. "Are we going now? Right now?"
"Amusement park demolition derby, remember?" Theo hoisted Finn like a trophy. "Whoever wins the most games gets to make the loser eat a triple cheeseburger."
"That's disgusting," Brad said, but relief colored his voice—perfect timing to distract Finn from his grandparents' surgical exit.
"You're disgusting. We're leaving." Theo was already backing toward the door, Finn over his shoulder like a giggling sack of potatoes. "Standard rules—first one to the car picks the music!"
"That's cheating, you're already moving!" Finn shrieked with delight, squirming free and tearing after Theo like his shoes were rocket-powered.
"Don't break my kid," Brad called after them.
"Can't promise anything!" Theo's voice echoed from the hallway.