Chapter 6: Child protection services

Catherine

The two men standing behind Mason wore matching grey suits, ID badges clipped to their lapels, and expressions of professional indifference.

"Catherine Blake?" the older of the two asked, holding out his card to me. "I'm Officer Luke from Child Protective Services. This is Officer Reyes. We received a report regarding the potential concealment and neglect of two minor children."

I stared at him, my brain stalling. "Concealment?"

Before the officer could answer, Mason stepped past me into the narrow entryway, his polished leather shoes loud against the linoleum. He didn't look at me. His eyes swept over the small living room, taking in the frayed couch cushions and the dated wallpaper.

"I tried to resolve this privately," Mason said, his voice smooth, controlled, and entirely fake. "However, when my wife cut off all communication and removed our children from their home to... 'this' environment, I had no choice but to involve the proper authorities to ensure their safety."

A heavy silence settled over the room. Behind me, the bedroom door creaked open. Mom stepped out, her eyes wide as she clutched her worn cardigan around her shoulders.

"Catie?" she whispered. "What's going on? Who are these people?"

I looked at Mason, a bitter, breathless laugh slipping from my throat. "Safety? You brought CPS to my mother's house for their 'safety'?"

"You took them without my consent," Mason replied coldly. "As far as I am concerned, taking two six-year-olds to a place like 'this' without informing their legal guardian borders on abduction."

"'A place like this,'" I repeated. I turned to the officers, who were already glancing between the colouring books spread across the coffee table, the fresh fruit sitting on the counter, and the clean, quiet atmosphere of the apartment. "He doesn't even know what his children eat for breakfast. He couldn't tell you the name of their paediatrician if his life depended on it."

Mason's jaw tightened, a subtle crack in his composure. "That is entirely irrelevant to—"

"Is it?" I stepped closer to him, my voice dropping, sharp as glass. "What's Ethan's favourite lullaby? Which allergy does Mara have? What time do they sleep? You don't know, because you've never stayed awake long enough to care unless I paid you for your time."

"Catherine, that's enough," he warned under his breath.

My mother took a tentative step forward, her voice shaking. "Mason... please, there's no need for all of this. Catie just brought the kids over to visit. We haven't done anything wrong—"

"Stay out of this," Mason snapped, turning his cold gaze on her. "This is between Catherine and me. I didn't come here to debate with a domestic—"

Slap.

The sound cracked through the apartment like a gunshot.

Mason's head jerked to the side. The silence that followed was suffocating. His hand rose slowly to his reddened cheek, his eyes wide with genuine shock as he stared down at me.

"Do not speak to my mother like that," I said, my voice dangerously quiet, though my entire body trembled. "Ever again."

My mother gasped, catching her breath. "Catie, no—"

Officer Luke cleared his throat loudly, stepping between us and tapping his tablet. "Mr. Blake, it's clear there is an ongoing custody and matrimonial dispute here, but there is no evidence of immediate danger or physical neglect. The children are supervised, clean, and in a secure home."

"She hid them from me," Mason spat, his eyes still fixed on me, burning with humiliation.

"And you have legal avenues for that through family court," Luke said plainly, turning towards the door. "We won't be filing a report today. Please refrain from using emergency state services to resolve domestic disagreements."

With a short nod, the two officers turned and walked down the hallway, their footsteps echoing on the stairs.

I turned my back on Mason, walking straight to my mother. Tears were swimming in her eyes, her hands trembling as she reached for me.

"I'm so sorry, Mom," I whispered, holding her cold hands. "I'm so, so sorry you had to hear that. I'm taking the kids back tonight. I'll explain everything later, I promise."

"Catie, you don't have to leave—"

"I have to fix this," I said quietly.

It took ten minutes to pack the kids' bags. Ethan and Mara were quiet, sensing the heavy tension, holding their stuffed animals tightly to their chests. When we walked out of the building, Mason was standing by his sleek black sedan, parked right beside the kerb like a dark stain against the modest street.

He opened the back door as we approached. "Get in. It's late, and I'm not letting my children cram into a cheap taxicab."

I didn't stop moving. I kept walking right past him, holding the kids' hands tightly.

"Catherine, don't be ridiculous," he called out, his voice laced with that familiar, maddening condescension. "I'm offering you a ride. It's dark out."

I flagged down a yellow cab hovering at the intersection, completely ignoring his presence.

He didn't remember—or maybe he just didn't care—that this wasn't new. He acted as though he was granting me a grand mercy, forgetting the countless times I had navigated crowded, freezing city buses with two crying toddlers and a body still aching from childbirth, all while he drove past us in his heated leather seats because taking us wasn't "on his route."

The cab pulled up. I loaded the bags, helped Ethan and Mara into the back seat, and slid in beside them without giving Mason a single backward glance.

The house was dead silent when we arrived.

I carried the kids straight upstairs, bathed them in soft, warm water, and tucked them into their beds. Mara drifted off almost instantly, but Ethan held onto my sleeve for a moment.

"Are you staying, Mom?" he asked softly.

"I'm right here, baby," I whispered, kissing his forehead. "Go to sleep."

Once their door clicked shut, I walked down the carpeted hallway and descended the stairs.

The living room was immaculate. Every surface gleamed under the recessed lighting, the air smelled faintly of lemon and pine, and not a single toy sat out of place. It looked like a luxury hotel lobby.

Unfeeling. Empty. Cold.

Mason was sitting at the kitchen island, a half-empty glass of scotch resting near his elbow. He looked up as my footsteps hit the hardwood, his expression guarded, his jaw still tight from the humiliation earlier.

I walked over and stood on the opposite side of the counter, leaning my palms flat against the cool marble.

"We need to talk," I said.

Mason took a slow sip of his drink, setting the glass down with a heavy, deliberate click. "If this is about the money, the five million was authorised. You have what you asked for."

"That wasn't a request, Mason. That was an invoice," I replied, my voice steady. "And we both know why you paid it. You didn't pay because you realised you were wrong. You paid because you were terrified of what your board of directors would say if my lawyer filed that ledger in court."

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't deny it. "You got your point across, Catherine. You threw your tantrum. You humiliated me in front of state officers and slapped me in your mother's hallway. Are you satisfied now?"

"Satisfied?" I let out a low, breathless laugh. "You really think this was about throwing a tantrum?"

"What else is it?" He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter, his tone shifting into the crisp, transactional edge he used in boardrooms. "You signed the agreement six years ago. You agreed to 50/50. You knew the terms of this marriage before we walked into the courthouse."

"I signed an agreement because I was twenty-two, pregnant, and terrified," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "But I only shot myself in the foot. Fifty-fifty? That's bullshit. It was simply slavery."

Mason's jaw ticked. "It was fairness. Neither of us owed the other anything."

"Exactly," I said softly, shaking my head. "The point was to ensure neither of us owed the other. I was the one who got the wrong memo. So now, I'll make it right."

I slid my tablet across the table to him.

Mason looked down at it, his brow furrowing slightly. "What is this?"

"Read it," I said, stepping back from the counter. "The five million covered my past six years. Now, we move on to the rest of my life."