Chapter 38 - The Cold Morning Sun
By nine in the morning, the house smelled of maple syrup and fried bacon.
Leo came down the stairs first, holding seven-year-old Maya’s hand, with the twins trailing behind like two sleepy ducklings. Leo looked at the taped window in the kitchen, the missing deadbolt, and the faint scuff marks on the hardwood floor.
"Grandma?" he asked quietly. "Did the wind break the door?"
"The wind made a bit of a mess, sweetheart," I said, smiling warmly as I set a platter of golden pancakes onto the center of the dining table. "And Uncle Marcus had to come help us fix it. But the house is safe. The doors are locked, and no more storms are coming."
Leo looked at Caleb, who was standing at the stove flipping sausages, his bandaged arm tucked neatly into an apron pocket.
"Dad?" Maya asked, running toward him. "Why do you have a bandage?"
Caleb knelt down on one knee, ignoring the pain in his arm, and wrapped his free arm around his daughter, burying his face in her hair. "I tripped over some garden tools in the dark, honey. But I'm okay. I'm right here. And I’m not going anywhere."
Patrice came into the dining room carrying a thick leather briefcase. She looked remarkably composed for a woman who had spent the night wrestling intruders and coordinating with county prosecutors. She placed a hand on my shoulder and gave it a firm, supportive squeeze.
"The magistrate signed the emergency order, Caleb," Patrice announced quietly, keeping her voice low so the children wouldn't hear over the clatter of forks. "Full temporary custody awarded to you, with an explicit protective order barring Tori or any member of her immediate family from contacting the children or approaching within five hundred yards of this property, their school, or your workplace."
"And the divorce filings?" Caleb asked without looking up from Maya.
"Filed by noon," Patrice said. "Based on the criminal charges, the abandonment at Narita, and the identity fraud involving the kids’ credit, she will not get a single red cent of spousal support. The state will garnish every future wage she ever earns in prison to pay restitution for the fraud."
Leo looked up at me, syrup on his cheek. "Grandma? Are you still going to Portugal?"
The room went dead silent.
Caleb turned slowly, his eyes wide. Patrice stopped midway through unsnapping her briefcase.
I looked at my grandson, then at the bright, golden sunlight flooding through the tall living room windows—the same sunlight that had shone on the Tagus River, the same light that had illuminated Arthur’s smile in the photographs on the mantle.
May you like
"I am, Leo," I said softly, stroking his hair. "I have a ticket booked for next month. But this time, nobody is running away. And nobody is being abandoned."
***
