“Don’t concern yourself with my finances.”
“Those are my children,” he snapped.
“And yet you just signed paperwork giving me permission to take them.”
His mouth opened, then closed again.
For the first time that morning, uncertainty crossed his face.
Not regret. Not heartbreak.
Just uncertainty.
I stood and picked up my bag. “You said you were in a hurry. Your mistress is waiting.”
His expression darkened. “Don’t start pretending you’re proud now. You lost.”
I bent down and lifted my daughter, Chloe, onto my hip. She had been coloring quietly in the reception area with the solemn obedience children learn when adults disappoint them too often. My son, Aiden, walked over and slipped his hand into mine.
