But Brandon wasn’t listening. His eyes were glued to the tiny tuft of dark hair peeking out from the peach blanket. He took a hesitant step forward, the confidence that usually radiated from him completely evaporated.
“Six months, Claire,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “We’ve been divorced for six months. Math isn’t my strong suit, but that means you were pregnant when we stood in front of the judge. You hid this from me.”
“I didn’t hide anything,” I said, my voice steady, devoid of the anger he was likely bracing for. “I simply abided by the terms of our separation. Terms your high-priced lawyers drew up.”
“You cheated the system!” Madison shrieked, finally stepping forward. The sweet, submissive assistant persona she had worn for years was entirely gone, replaced by a desperate, sharp-edged panic. “Brandon, she’s trying to trap you! She’s trying to ruin our day!”
“Shut up, Madison!” Brandon snapped, not looking at her. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, looking down at me. “If that’s my child, I have rights. I’ll sue for full custody. I’ll tie you up in family court until you don’t have a dime left to your name. You think you can use a baby to extort me?”
I couldn’t help but let out a soft, genuine laugh. It was so entirely Brandon to assume everything was a financial transaction or a power play.
The Fine Print
“Do you remember the night you brought the final NDA and expedited divorce papers to our house?” I asked, adjusting my daughter so she was cradled securely in the crook of my arm. “You were so eager to jet off to Aspen with Madison that you didn’t even sit down. You told me your lawyers had included a standard ‘clean break’ clause.”
Brandon’s brow furrowed. “Yeah. It stated neither party could claim future assets, alimony, or…” He trailed off, his face losing what little color it had left.
