So Much More(34)

I shake my head. “I told you. We’re getting married. That’s what I want.”

He looks completely bewildered, but I can see the gears turning, he’s weighing his options. He knows his neck is in a noose. “Fine. But you’re fired. I’ll pay you a severance package. I don’t want you anywhere near my business. Are we clear?”

My heart shudders initially, but then I realize I can go anywhere and get a job after I move to Seattle. “Fine.”

“There will be a prenup.”

I nod, I don’t know how my ultimatums turned into negotiations, but if I’m honest I’m a bit surprised this is all going so well, so I’m participating in them. “Fine.”

“And I saw the paternity results in your pile of exploitation. I need your word that no one ever finds out Kira is mine. I don’t want children. Her father is raising her as far as I’m concerned. Your husband can have her. She’s better off with him.” He huffs. “They’re all better off with him. I hope you know that. You shouldn’t be a mother.”

I’m not a mother, I think, they’re my fa?ade. “Okay.” I’m agreeing today. Little does he know I’m just giving him time to adjust to the idea of marriage before I move the kids in with us. I don’t want them here, but for appearance’s sake it’s necessary. I still need to be surrounded by sheep. And no one loves women who abandon their sheep. I also need Loren to bond with Kira. Eventually, he’ll soften to her and claim her and then he’ll thank me for giving that gift. That’s how I’ll redeem myself in his eyes, by giving him the one thing he didn’t know he wanted. I’ll get to Loren’s heart through Kira. Who knew sheep would make such ideal pawns?





A lovely shade of I will annihilate your soul





present





I know stress isn’t good for me. It’s a lion that prowls the recesses of my brain waiting to attack and when prodded, it’s a man-eater. It feasts on my well-being, rationality, and health like a gluttonous savage.

Sometimes stress can be backed into a corner and controlled with mental reassessment and a change of perspective. Some problems aren’t as big as I initially make them out to be. And sometimes they aren’t even problems at all.

But what I’m facing now with Miranda and the prospect of her taking my kids to Seattle, it doesn’t get more real than this.

I can feel the stress, physically feel it. In the numbness of my legs. In the blindness of my eye. In the loss of appetite. In the insomnia. In the fatigue of my muscles and the headache crashing like cymbals between my ears. It’s bleeding through me, too thick for my veins, filling me like a bloated balloon on the brink of bursting.

I’m sitting in the reception area of Miranda’s lawyer’s office. Everything about the room is orchestrated to scream dominance: from the masculine, oxblood leather sofas; to the dark wood paneled walls and bookshelves, to the artificial musky scent in the air. It’s a testosterone fest. I’m sure if they’re defending you it offers a sense of security, like being cocooned in Superman’s cape. But if you’re on the other side, staring down an unknown future that’s in their hands, it makes you feel two inches small…to their ten feet tall. Mission accomplished.

This meeting was called out of the blue a few days ago. It was presented to me as a civil offering with a mediator to settle the issue. I’m hoping Miranda came to her senses and is reconsidering, but my gut and the pounding in my head tell me that’s impossible.

“Mr. McIntyre?” The voice is professional. It’s the veil that cloaks the bared teeth and claws that hide underneath.

“Yes,” I answer without meeting his eyes. It’s an intentionally evasive gesture to set the tone. Bitterness has me standing at the edge of sanity looking down into the deep, dark pit of future regret. I fear my mouth may get the better of me this morning. Sleep deprivation has put my sense of decorum and tact through a grinder and left me with shredded remnants of sensibility and preservation. I need to keep myself in check. I grab my cane and stand to follow him down the hallway to a conference room.

Miranda is already sitting inside. She’s wearing a black tailored suit jacket and a crimson silk blouse. The color red represents power. It’s her favorite…color to wear and distinguishing trait.

I take a seat where I’m instructed, directly across the wide table from her. She’s five feet away, but I can feel intimidation tumbling at me in violent surges of aggression. I blaze my eyes in return to let her know I’m not taking her shit today.

Her lawyer, Dean Bergman, clears his throat to break the silent pissing match we’ve already begun, and says, “Why don’t we get started?”

I’m drunk with rage. I raise my eyebrows in challenge. “Why don’t we?”

He slides a neat stack of papers across the table toward me. They’re deliberately neat like they’ve been tapped on all sides on a flat surface several times to ensure perfection and add to the overall presentation of superiority.

I take them heavy-handedly, jostling them into disarray and erasing the posturing they’re vying for.





Revision of Custody

Kai McIntyre

Rory McIntyre

Kira McIntyre