Chapter 2 - THE PETITION SAID I KEPT HIM AWAY
The papers arrived at 9:14 Monday morning.
Not dramatically.
A process server met me outside my office in downtown Raleigh while I was carrying a laptop bag and coffee.
“Claire Mercer?”
“Yes.”
He handed me the envelope.
“I’m sorry.”
He probably said that all day.
The petition was thirty-four pages.
Daniel requested expanded parenting time.
Alternating weekends immediately.
Then a stepped increase toward equal time if reunification went well.
He also requested recalculation of child support based on his reduced income.
None of that shocked me.
Then I reached page twelve.
Respondent has historically frustrated and discouraged Father’s relationship with the minor children.
I stopped breathing.
Page thirteen.
Father made numerous attempts to exercise parenting time that were rejected, ignored, or conditioned by Respondent.
Page fourteen.
Respondent communicated to the children that Father chose a new family over them and fostered hostility toward Father.
I read that paragraph three times.
Then I called Mariah Ellis.
Mariah had handled my divorce six years earlier.
She answered:
“Tell me nobody got arrested.”
“Daniel filed.”
A pause.
“For custody?”
“Modification.”
“Send it.”
“Mariah.”
“What?”
“He says I kept him away.”
Her voice changed.
“I’ll call you back in twenty.”
She called in twelve.
“You’re not responding to him directly.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Because I remember 2019 Claire.”
“That was six years ago.”
“2019 Claire once sent a three-page email at midnight explaining why a father should know his child’s shoe size.”
“He should.”
“True. Still bad litigation practice.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“What happens?”
“We answer.”
“What about the kids?”
“Nothing today.”
“He wants equal time.”
“He can request the moon.”
“Mariah.”
She softened.
“The court is going to look at the actual history and what serves the children now. He doesn’t become an equal-time parent because he wrote it in twelve-point Times New Roman.”
I stared through my office window.
Fayetteville Street below.
Buses.
Lunch crowds.
People who did not know my former husband had just accused me of engineering his absence.
“He lists thirty-seven denied visits.”
“Do you remember thirty-seven?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“It sounds honest.”
I closed my office door.
“I said no sometimes.”
“I know.”
“After he disappeared for four months, he asked to take Sophie and Noah to Wilmington with Vanessa for the weekend.”
“I remember.”
“I refused.”
“Yes.”
“And when Grace was nine months old, he wanted to take all three overnight after not seeing Grace in seven weeks.”
“You asked him to do two daytime visits first.”
“He called that controlling.”
“I remember.”
“What if they make that look bad?”
“Then we put it in context.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“There were other times.”
“Claire.”
“What?”
“Parents are allowed to make imperfect decisions.”
That sentence made my throat tighten.
“Did I keep him away?”
Mariah became quiet.
“No.”
Immediate.
“You didn’t.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I represented you while you spent two years begging him to establish predictable time.”
I closed my eyes.
The old exhaustion returned faster than memory.
Calendars.
Cancelled Saturdays.
Sophie sitting beside the front window.
Noah asking whether Daddy knew his address.
Grace screaming when Daniel tried to pick her up because she did not recognize him.
Mariah continued.
“We subpoena the old co-parenting records.”
“I don’t have access anymore.”
“The provider archives.”
“Can they go back eight years?”
“We’ll find out.”
I heard movement outside my office.
Then a knock.
My assistant, Amy, opened the door.
“Sophie’s school.”
My stomach dropped.
“What happened?”
“She’s okay. She asked to be picked up.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course she had.
The petition had been served at my office.
But Daniel had texted her.
I knew before I checked.
Sophie sat in the passenger seat twenty-five minutes later with her backpack between her feet.
She did not look at me.
“What did he send?”
“How do you know?”
“Because you left school.”
She held up her phone.
Daniel:
I filed paperwork because I want a real relationship with you, Noah and Grace. I hope someday you understand I tried before too.
My jaw tightened.
“He should not have involved you before we talked.”
“He says he tried.”
“I saw.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
That answer surprised her.
“What?”
“He tried sometimes.”
“Then why didn’t we see him?”
“Sometimes the visit happened. Sometimes it didn’t.”
“Because of you?”
The question hurt.
I looked at the steering wheel.
“Sometimes I said no.”
Her face changed.
There.
That was all Daniel needed.
“What?”
“Not because I wanted you away from him.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
She sounded like me.
That was inconvenient.
I forced myself not to become defensive.
“After he left, your dad would disappear for weeks. Then he’d call Thursday and want the entire weekend.”
“So?”
“So you were six. Noah was three. Grace was a newborn.”
“He was still Dad.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t remember you saying that then.”
My hands tightened.
“What do you remember?”
Sophie looked out the window.
“You saying, ‘We’re not rearranging our lives every time your father feels guilty.’”
I remembered.
God.
I remembered saying it.
She had been eight.
Daniel had cancelled Christmas morning.
Then asked two days later to take them skiing.
I had been furious.
I had thought Sophie was upstairs.
“You heard that.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
She looked at me.
“Was it true?”
“Yes.”
Another painful answer.
“Your father was inconsistent.”
“Did you hate him?”
“At the time?”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes.”
She nodded slowly.
“Did you make us hate him?”
“No.”
“I don’t hate him.”
“I know.”
That stopped her.
“What?”
“I know you don’t.”
She looked surprised.
“I don’t know him.”
That was worse.
At home, Noah had already heard.
Sophie told him.
He stood in the kitchen with his arms crossed.
“He wants custody?”
“More parenting time.”
“Same thing.”
“Not exactly.”
“Do I have to go?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“I’m not.”
“Noah.”
“No.”
He was eleven and stubborn in the precise way Daniel had once found charming.
Grace sat at the table coloring.
“Will Dad sleep here?”
“No.”
“Will we sleep there?”
“Maybe sometimes.”
Her face brightened.
Noah looked at her like she had betrayed a nation.
“You don’t even know him.”
Grace shrugged.
“That’s why.”
Sophie looked at me.
“Can we read the papers?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because they are adult legal documents.”
“They’re about us.”
“Yes.”
“And Dad already told me what he says.”
That was true.
I hated that he had forced the timing.
“I will tell you the parts you need to know.”
“Need according to who?”
“Sophie.”
She stood.
“You.”
Then walked upstairs.
The door closed.
Noah said, “She’s mad.”
“I noticed.”
Grace held up her picture.
She had drawn five people.
Me.
Her.
Noah.
Sophie.
And a man with brown hair standing far away.
“Is that Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Why is he over there?”
Grace looked at me as if the answer were obvious.
“Because I don’t know where he goes.”
My phone buzzed.
Mariah.
CLAIRE — I GOT THE OLD APP PROVIDER ON THE PHONE. THEY HAVE ARCHIVED EXPORTS.
Then another.
DANIEL’S PETITION LISTS 37 “DENIED” VISITS.
A third appeared.
THE APP SHOWS 52 CANCELLATIONS BY HIM.
I stared at the number.
Fifty-two.
But before relief could settle, Mariah sent one more message.
THERE ARE ALSO 11 TIMES YOU REFUSED OR LIMITED CONTACT.
WE NEED TO WALK THROUGH EVERY ONE.
May you like
The truth was not going to be as clean as I wanted.
And this time, my children were old enough to notice.
