Chapter 12: Mine again

Mason

The silence in the kitchen after Mara’s question felt like ice pouring down my throat.

For several seconds, her words replayed in my head.

I looked at her small, innocent face, and my insides twisted. It didn't look like an accusation, more like curiosity.

Had I really made them think that spending time with their father came with a price?

No.

That made no sense. Our agreement was always clear. Catherine and I had simply established clear boundaries. Money had been part of our arrangement from the beginning, and I had always been transparent about it. If the children had misunderstood that, then Catherine should have explained it to them properly.

Before I could find my voice, Catherine set her mug down on the counter and stepped toward Mara.

"No, sweetie," Catherine said, placing a hand on Mara’s shoulder, crouching down to look at both of them. "Daddy isn't going to ask for money. We both love you very much, and love isn't something anyone ever pays for. No amount of money in the world could buy how much we love you."

I stared at her, my jaw tight. Why was she softening it now?

Why was she pretending our entire foundation hadn't been built on clear, practical boundaries?

"Catherine," I began, stepping forward, my tone hardening. "They need to understand how the world actually works. There's nothing wrong with accountability. What we had before was standard, clean, and—"

Catherine snapped her head up. Her eyes met mine—dark, icy, and lethal.

The words caught in my throat. The sheer warning in her glare physically stopped me from uttering another syllable.

"I'll take you two to the park after work today," Catherine said, turning her smile back to the children as if I wasn't even standing there. "Mommy has a busy afternoon, but we’ll go get ice cream at four. Okay?"

"Okay!" Mara chirped, her mood instantly shifting as she picked up her fork again. Ethan gave a quiet nod, his eyes lingering on Catherine before going back to his plate.

When Catherine left for work ten minutes later, taking the quiet warmth of the house with her, the living room fell into a heavy, suffocating stillness.

I sat on the couch, watching the twins play with their blocks on the rug. They didn't talk to me. They didn't even look up when I cleared my throat. If I walked toward them, Ethan’s shoulders tensed, and Mara quietly gathered her toys closer to her chest.

It wasn't me. It couldn't be me.

She was doing this. She was actively twisting their little minds, conditioning them to keep me at arm’s length while she played the saint.

The moment the kids were down for their afternoon nap, I locked myself in my study, opening my laptop.

I typed into the search bar: "Parental alienation tactics on children; How to counter maternal manipulation on young children; Rebuilding trust with children conditioned to fear authority."

I spent hours scrolling through articles, legal journals, and child psychology papers. The consensus was clear: consistent exposure, shared activities, and breaking the alienating parent's narrative through direct emotional engagement.

If Catherine thought she could out-strategize me in my own home, she was dead wrong. I had built L&T Group from the ground up by conquering hostile takeovers. I wasn't going to let my own children be taken from me.

The next three weeks were a war of attrition.

I threw myself into the roster with a manic, relentless intensity. I cut my boardroom meetings short, handed off major contract reviews to Miller, and made sure I was physically standing in the kitchen by 6:00 AM on every single one of my shifts.

When it was my night to cook, I didn't hire a chef. I stood over the stove with a cookbook propped against the salt shaker, learning how to cut the crusts off bread without tearing the middle, learning how to make the yellow noodles Mara liked without burning the garlic.

My back screamed from kneeling on the bathroom floor every other night, learning the exact water temperature Mara tolerated and how to rinse Ethan’s hair without getting soap in his eyes.

"Dad," Ethan muttered on a Thursday night, staring at me as I knelt beside the tub, my dress shirt soaked through to the elbows. "You're getting wet."

"It's fine," I gritted out, wiping a splash of warm water from my face and forcing a smile. "Hold still so I can rinse your back."

Ethan didn't pull away this time. He just watched me, his dark eyes solemn, searching my face.

On my assigned weekends, I didn't take them to expensive arcades where I could sit back and answer work emails. I sat on the grass at the park, kicking a dusty soccer ball back and forth with Ethan until my knees throbbed. I sat on the tiny wooden chairs in their bedroom, letting Mara place plastic hair clips into my hair while she played salon.

It was exhausting. It was draining every last drop of my sanity, leaving me running on three hours of sleep and pure adrenaline. My executive team was scrambling at work, corporate emails were piling up into the hundreds, but I didn't care.

I was winning them back.

The breakthrough came on a rainy Tuesday evening.

I pulled into the driveway at 5:30 PM, my body heavy with fatigue after a brutal afternoon of clearing delayed logistics reports. The front door unlocked with a soft click, and I stepped into the foyer, dropping my briefcase onto the bench.

Catherine was sitting at the dining table, her laptop open, reviewing a stack of documents. She looked up briefly, giving me a short, polite nod before returning to her screen.

Before I could even take off my coat, the sound of tiny, rapid footsteps echoed down the hardwood hallway.

"Daddy!"

I froze.

Mara came flying around the corner, her short legs moving as fast as they could, her arms wide open. She didn't hesitate. She didn't look at Catherine for permission. She threw her small body directly against my legs, wrapping her arms around my knees so tight I almost lost my balance.

"You're home!" she squealed, looking up at me with a wide, toothy grin. "Did you bring the dragon book? You promised we could read chapter four today!"

My breath caught in my throat. My heart gave a violent, slamming thud against my ribs.

I dropped to one knee right there on the hard floor, ignoring the sharp pain in my joints, and pulled her small frame into my arms. She smelled like strawberry shampoo and sweet milk. She clung to my neck, her tiny fingers digging into the fabric of my suit jacket.

Over Mara’s shoulder, I saw Ethan walk slowly out of the living room. He didn't run, but he stood by the archway, holding his drawing pad, giving me a small, quiet nod.

"I brought the book, Mara," I whispered, my voice rough, thick with an emotion I couldn't quite control. "I promised, didn't I?"

I looked up across the room.

Catherine was staring at us from the dining table. Her pen was suspended in mid-air, her eyes wide as she watched Mara clinging to my neck.

A profound, intoxicating wave of fulfillment rushed through my chest, hotter and sweeter than any corporate victory I had ever won.

I stood up, lifting Mara effortlessly onto my hip. She laughed, wrapping an arm around my neck as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

I looked dead at Catherine, letting a slow, triumphant smile touch my lips.

Her manipulation had failed. My children were mine again.