Chapter 8

Catherine

My fingers hovered over the zipper of Mara’s pink backpack for nearly two minutes before I finally pulled it shut.

Everything was in place. Two sets of ironed uniforms hung on the closet door. Socks folded neatly and tucked right inside their shoes on the rug. Their blue water bottles were filled and sitting on the bottom shelf of the fridge, right next to the pre-sliced apples wrapped tightly in foil.

I sat on the edge of Mara’s bed, smoothing back her hair. Ethan stirred beside her, clutching his faded bear to his chest.

"Ethan," I whispered, shaking his small shoulder gently until his dark eyes opened, heavy with sleep. "Mara, sweetie, open your eyes for a second."

Mara rubbed her nose, squirming under the duvet. "Is it morning, Mom?"

"Not yet, baby," I said, keeping my voice as soft as velvet. "Listen to me closely, okay? Tomorrow, Mommy won't be here when you wake up. I have to go into work early."

Ethan sat up, his brow knotting into a familiar frown. "Is Daddy taking us?"

"Yes," I said, forcing a warm, reassuring smile onto my face, though my chest felt tight enough to burst. "Daddy is on duty tomorrow. I need you both to be extra good for him. Don't throw your shoes, don't fight over the bathroom, and be good kids, alright?"

"Does Daddy know how to make the peanut butter toast?" Mara asked innocently, her voice tiny in the dim nightlight.

"He'll figure it out," I replied, squeezing her small hand. "Just be patient with him. Promise me you'll be good?"

"Promise," they murmured together.

I kissed both their foreheads, tucked the blankets up to their chins, and stood there in the dark room, watching the steady rise and fall of their shoulders until my eyes burned.

Steeling my heart was harder than writing that ledger.

When my alarm went off at 5:30 AM on Tuesday, I didn't let myself linger. I washed my face, dressed in one of the new silk blouses I'd bought, and crept into the kids' room one last time just to touch their warm cheeks while they slept.

Then, I picked up my bag, walked past Mason’s shut bedroom door, and left the house before the sun was fully up.

By 11:30 AM, I was sitting across from Sarah at a sunlit corner table in a quiet bistro near her law firm.

A steaming plate of truffle pasta sat between us, but I hadn't touched a single bite. My phone rested face-down on the cloth napkin beside my fork. Every three minutes, my thumb twitched toward it, desperate to check the screen, to see if the school had called, to see if Mason had abandoned them entirely.

Sarah set her fork down with a sharp click against her porcelain plate.

"If you stare at that phone any harder, Catie, the screen is going to shatter."

I let out a shaky sigh, leaning back into the leather booth. "I'm worried. What if he can't handle them?"

"He'll figure it out. He's their father, Catie," Sarah said smoothly, taking a sip of her iced tea. "It's his responsibility."

"He doesn't know where their body wash is," I murmured, my hand dropping into my lap as I gripped my own knees. "He doesn't know Ethan’s left shoe needs to be loosened before he puts it on because his arch is high. What if he screams at them? What if he drops them off late and the school doesn't let them in?"

"And what if he actually learns how to be a father?" Sarah countered, her sharp eyes locking onto mine without hesitation. "Catherine, look at me."

I raised my eyes to meet hers.

"You're acting like you abandoned two infants on a doorstep in the middle of a blizzard," she said, her voice dropping into that grounding, authoritative tone she used in courtrooms. "They are six years old. They are with their biological, billionaire father in a safe city. They will survive a rough morning without peanut butter toast."

"I just... I feel sick," I admitted, my throat tight. "It feels selfish. I left before they even opened their eyes."

Sarah leaned across the small table, reaching out to grasp my cold fingers. Her grip was firm, grounding.

"Taking care of yourself is not the same thing as abandoning your children, Catie," she said softly. "You’ve spent six years burning yourself alive to keep three other people warm. Do you know what we all said when you called us six years ago and told us you were getting married? Right after you got your internship?"

I swallowed hard, looking down at our joined hands. "You said congratulations."

"We lied to be polite," Sarah said plainly, a faint, bitter smile touching her lips. "You graduated as the best student in the school, and had firms begging you to intern at their company. The news of your marriage was like blowing out a burning fire. With a baby on the way too, we all predicted how long it would take for you to quit totally."

The noise of the bistro—clinking glasses, low laughter, soft jazz playing overhead—faded into a blur.

"I thought I was doing the right thing," I whispered, my voice cracking. "It was the only way to give the kids a legitimate status."

"And it's not your fault," Sarah replied gently. "I'm actually proud you held out this long. You're still here, with your job, despite how tough it was."

I chuckled, shaking my head bitterly. "I only hung on to it because I would starve otherwise." I smiled, tears burning my eyes. "At a point, it just became a means of survival."

"It’s not too late," Sarah said, patting my hand. "You still have many years ahead of you. The Catie I know is one full of endless ideas and passion. If you lock in now, you'll probably make manager in less than a year."

I rolled my eyes. "Isn't that dreaming too high?"

"Well, the Catie I know wasn't scared to dream," she responded, downing the rest of her tea. "Dream as much as you want, baby girl."