21. Thea
TWENTY-ONE
THEA
Lena started crying. The sound cut through the silence. She arched in Declan's arms, her face red, her fists clenched.
I reached for her.
Declan pulled back. But the inch was a wall, and my hands closed on empty air. I stood there with my arms extended, my fingers open, the distance between them and my baby — between them and his baby — filled with everything he was about to say.
"Where were you?" he asked again.
"Margot called. Diane's housing placement was falling through. The shelter was going to discharge her — paperwork issue, they needed a wet signature. I had to go in." My voice was steady. "My mother offered to watch Lena. I gave her the rundown. I called to check in. She said everything was fine."
"Your mother left the apartment."
"I know that now."
"She left Lena alone. The front door was unlocked. Mrs. Parrish found her crying in the crib with no one in the apartment."
My hands dropped to my sides. The air in the room pressed against my skin. Lena was still crying, the sound climbing, and I wanted to take her, hold her, press her against my chest until she stopped, but the inch was still there, and Declan's body was still angled away.
"You don't understand what's at stake." He shifted Lena higher on his chest. His hand cupped the back of her head.
"This isn't about today. This is about the custody case.
We are under a microscope. Kira has lawyers.
If her team finds out that Lena was left alone in an unsupervised apartment — even for twenty minutes — it's over. "
"I know — "
"Add that to what she's already accusing me of. The payoff. The negligence. A baby left unattended in a penthouse with an unlocked front door." His jaw flexed; the muscles at the hinge were visible. "We lose custody. Do you understand that?"
"I understand. I made a mistake. I trusted my mother, and I shouldn't have.
" I kept my voice level, but my nails dug into my palms. "But you don't get to talk to me like I'm one of your employees who missed a deadline.
I have been here every night, every feeding, every fever, every cry that nobody else could stop. "
Lena's wail climbed. She was rigid in his arms, responding to the frequency between us.
I reached for her again. This time he didn't pull back. I lifted her from his arms. She came to me. The crying thinned to whimpering, then silence.
I rocked her. My hand on her back. My eyes on Declan.
He was watching me hold his daughter. His face was tight. His hands were at his sides, empty now.
"You don't have legal standing here, Thea," he said. Like a fact. "If this goes wrong, I'm the one who loses a daughter." A pause. "You can walk away from this. I can't."
The words entered the room, and the room changed temperature.
I stood very still. Lena's breathing was slow against my chest. She was calm. I was not. The warmth drained out of my face. I could feel it leave. But Declan knew I was the woman who never had standing, and he just said it out loud.
"You're right." My voice was polite. "She's not my daughter. I'm sorry I forgot my place."
I transferred Lena to him carefully. Lena stirred. Her fingers grasped at the air for a moment, reaching for me.
I let go. I turned. I walked down the hallway, went into my room, and closed the door.
The door clicked shut. The room was quiet. Nothing in this room was mine. Nothing in this apartment was mine. Nothing in this arrangement was mine, and he'd just reminded me of that.
I sat on the edge of the bed. My hands were in my lap, shaking. He said the thing I'd been afraid of hearing since the day I moved in. I had no claim. I could walk away. I wasn't the mother.
I picked up my phone, scrolled to a name, and pressed call.
Lorraine picked up on the third ring. "Hey, baby! Is everything —"
"What is wrong with you?" My voice came out different than I expected. "You left a baby alone in an apartment." My hand shook around the phone. "A baby. Alone. You said you'd watch her, and you left."
"Thea, honey, I just had to step out for a minute. Ray called, and he needed me to — "
"Ray called." I closed my eyes. "Ray called, and you left a four-month-old in a crib in a penthouse on the fortieth floor with the front door unlocked."
"She was sleeping, Thea. I was only going to be gone for — "
"Can you hear yourself? Ray called. I'm not even surprised." My voice climbed. "Your boyfriends were always more important. You've been doing this my entire life, Mom."
"Thea — "
"You show up when it's convenient, and you leave the second something better calls. I was that baby. Nina was that baby. We sat in that house and waited for you to come back, and half the time you didn't, and the other half you came back with a new boyfriend and expected us to be happy for you."
"That's not fair." Lorraine's voice was smaller now. Wounded. "I did my best, Thea. I was a single mother. I did everything I could for you girls."
"You left us in the house while you went out with men who didn't stay.
You came home and talked about them for hours and never once asked how we were doing.
You made me your therapist when I was twelve years old.
You called me to talk about your boyfriend when I was sitting in an adoption agency losing my baby.
" My voice cracked. I pressed my fist against my mouth and breathed through it.
"And today you left a baby alone because Ray called, and you walked out the door without a second thought, because that is what you do. That is what you have always done."
Silence on the line. Then the sound of my mother crying. "I would never hurt that baby," she said, her voice wet. "I love her. I love you. I don't understand why you're this angry. I was only gone for — "
"You always do this, and I keep letting you because I keep thinking this time will be different." I pressed my palm against my eye. The tears were hot against my hand. "It's never different with you, Mom. It's never different."
She was crying. I was crying. The distance between us was the same distance it had always been. She on one side, loving me the way she loved everyone — loudly, briefly, with most of her attention already turned toward whoever was next.
I hung up, set the phone on the bed, and pressed both palms against my eyes until the shaking slowed.
The phone buzzed against the mattress. I picked it up, expecting Lorraine to call back.
Margot.
I quickly composed myself, wiping my face with the back of my hand before answering.
"Hey." Margot's voice was warm. "You got a minute?"
"I've got a minute."
"Good. Because I need to tell you something, and I need you to actually listen and not deflect it into a conversation about the Whitfield grant or the Garcia case or whatever case file is currently sitting on your lap."
"There's no case file on my lap."
"Good. That's progress." A breath. "I turned down the Harmon job."
I sat up. "What?"
"I called them this morning. Withdrew my application. Told them thank you but no."
"Margot, the salary, your mortgage, your kids… You said — "
"I know what I said." Her voice was steady. "And I meant it. The money was real. The need was real. I interviewed, and they offered, and it was a good offer, Thea. Twice what we pay ourselves. Benefits. A 401k that actually has numbers in it."
I pressed the phone against my ear. My eyes stung again.
"But I sat in my car in their parking lot after the second interview, and I looked at their building — glass, nice, eight floors, a logo on the wall — and I tried to picture myself walking through those doors every morning, sitting in their meetings, running their programs." She paused.
"And I couldn't. Because their programs aren't ours.
Their clients aren't our clients. Diane isn't sitting in their intake chair, Thea. Diane is sitting in ours."
"You can't stay for Diane."
"I'm not staying for Diane." Her voice softened.
"I'm staying for you. And for me. Because we started this thing together in an office above a laundromat with a coffee maker that didn't work and a shared dream that everyone said was stupid.
I could leave, and I'd be fine. My kids would eat, and my mortgage would get paid.
But I'd wake up every morning knowing I walked away from the thing I built with my best friend because the money got hard.
" A breath. "The money's been hard since day one.
That's not new. What's new is me looking at another door and deciding not to walk through it. "
The tears were on my face again. I didn't wipe them.
"We'll figure out the funding," Margot said. "Together. But I'm not leaving. We started it together, so we'll finish it together. Whatever that looks like."
"Margot." My voice was thick. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything. Just don't make me regret it by running yourself into the ground."
I laughed. "I won't."
"Good." A beat. "Did you eat today?"
"Margot."
"That's not a yes."
"I have to go. There's something I need to sort out."
"Go sort. But eat something. I mean it, Thea."
I hung up. I sat on the edge of the bed. The room was quiet. My face was wet. My hands were still. The shaking was gone.
Margot stayed. In a world where everyone left — Caleb, the agency, the birth mother who changed her mind, the mother who walked out when Ray called — Margot stayed.
I wiped my face and stood up.
I heard Declan's door open. I reached for my own handle at the same time, pulled it open, and stepped into the hallway.
He was standing outside his door, three feet away. He'd changed from his suit into joggers, a gray T-shirt, bare feet. His hair was pushed in every direction. His eyes were red.
We looked at each other.
"What you said was cruel," I said.
"I know." He didn't flinch. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded."
"You shouldn't have said it at all."
"I know that too." He leaned against the doorframe.
His hand found the back of his neck. "I'm scared, Thea.
The hearing is in three weeks. The Caine deal is collapsing.
My chief of staff — " He stopped and swallowed.
"Everything is falling apart, and I can't control any of it.
I'm not built for this. I'm built to control things, and nothing is controllable right now. "
"I know you're scared." I crossed my arms over my chest. "I'm scared too. But being scared doesn't give you the right to remind me that I'm disposable."
"I didn't say you were disposable."
"No. What you said was worse. You said I could walk away. Like I'm a guest. Like the several weeks of holding your daughter, feeding her, singing to her at three in the morning, falling asleep with her on my chest meant nothing because my name isn't on a piece of paper."
He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. The grin arrived — small, crooked, entirely inappropriate for the moment.
"I should probably wash my mouth with soap then."
"This isn't a joke, Declan."
"Isn't it?" He gestured at the two of us. "Look at us. There's enough fire between us to light up the entire building."
I pressed my lips together. My jaw clenched. My eyes stung. And a laugh came out of me — involuntary and traitorous. He laughed too.
The laughter slowly faded. The hallway went quiet. We were standing close. I didn't remember moving, but the three feet between our doors was now one.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean it. Any of it. You are Lena's mother. In every way that counts." His voice dropped. "You're a better parent than I'll probably ever be. And I'm sorry for diminishing that."
My arms were still crossed, but the tightness was loosening.
"I'm sorry too." The words came slowly. "I should have known better than to leave Lena with my mother. I've spent my whole life knowing who Lorraine is, and I let myself believe this time would be different." I uncrossed my arms. "It wasn't."
He reached for me. His hand found my elbow, then my arm, then my waist. Slow. Asking permission at every inch.
I let him.
His forehead touched mine. His breath was warm on my mouth. Our breathing slowed together.
I kissed him. My hands on his jaw. His hands on my waist. The kiss was soft at first, the apology still in it. Then it deepened, his hands pulled me closer, my fingers slid into his hair, and we moved through his door without separating.
The bedroom was dark. The city glowed. His watch was already off. He pulled my shirt over my head. I pulled off his. We fell into each other and then into the bed, unashamed. Three hours apart had left us aching, and we needed the press of skin to feel the fight finally break.
After.
His bed. My head on his chest. His hand in my hair. The city silent. Lena's monitor on the nightstand, the green light blinking.
"We have to be on our best behavior for the hearing," I said.
"I know."
"No more mistakes. No more leaving Lena with anyone who isn't us or the night nurse or Mrs. Parrish."
"Agreed."
He was quiet for a moment. His fingers slowly moved through my curls.
"There's the issue of my chief of staff." His voice was different now. "He's the one who paid Kira off. I saw the footage. Security camera in the Vanguard lobby. He walked her to a chair, handed her an envelope, and told her to handle it quietly."
I lifted my head and looked at him. "You saw it?"
"Today. Julian and I watched it together. The footage is time-stamped. It's Graham." His jaw flexed. "But the footage alone doesn't prove I didn't order it. He works for me. A lawyer could argue he was acting on my instructions. If this comes out during the custody hearing —"
"It could work against you."
"Against us."
I put my hand on his face. His cheek. He turned his head and pressed his lips against my palm, held them there. His eyes were closed.
"I need him to admit he acted alone," he said against my hand.
"I need a confession. And the timing is — there's no good time for this.
The hearing is in three weeks. The Caine referral is going to the SEC.
Everything is happening at once, and I don't — " He stopped and opened his eyes. "I don't know how to handle all of it."
"You don't have to handle all of it." I traced his jaw with my thumb. "We'll go through it together. The hearing. Graham. Whatever comes."
He looked at me. "Together."
"Together," I repeated.
He turned his head and kissed my palm again. Then he pulled me closer, my head settled back against his chest, his hand found my hair, the monitor blinked, Lena slept, and the city held its breath outside the windows.