Full physical and legal custody awarded to Daniel Mitchell.
I stared at the heavy black ink for a long time. The words swimming on the page. I forced myself to look up, my voice barely above a whisper. “You want the babies?”
“Yes.” He didn’t blink. “They will have stability with me. A proper, fully staffed home.”
A hysterical, bitter laugh clawed at my throat. Daniel hadn’t successfully navigated a diaper change in his entire existence.
He gestured impatiently toward a smaller envelope. “There is a cashier’s check in there. Three million dollars. Think of it as a clean break.”
Three million. He tossed the number into the air like he was covering the tab for a business lunch.
I looked at him. I looked at Lindsay. I looked at the gold wedding band still mocking me from his left hand. “You cannot be serious.”
Daniel aggressively rubbed his jaw, adopting the tone of a man exhausted by having to explain simple math to a child. “You just underwent major abdominal surgery, Carolyn. Your hormones are erratic. I am actively trying to make this transition easier for you. You are simply not in a position to raise newborn twins right now.”
Behind him, Lindsay subtly shifted her weight. I noticed it then—her hand moved to rest lightly, possessively, against the small of his back. It was a gesture of intimate comfort. They had rehearsed this execution.
A sudden, freezing calm settled deep inside my chest. It wasn’t the fiery heat of rage. It wasn’t the crushing weight of heartbreak. It was pure, distilled clarity.
