“No.”
“Please. I just need to know if Grace—”
“Your daughter is safe.”
I sat down at the kitchen table.
“Mrs. Mitchell has filed a temporary order request,” the attorney continued. “Until the court date, all communication must go through counsel. You are not to contact her family, friends, employer, or attempt to locate her residence.”
“I’m her husband.”
“You are also the respondent in a custody and divorce proceeding.”
The words sounded cold, official, permanent.
“I want to see my daughter.”
“That will be addressed in court.”
“When?”
“You will receive formal notice.”
I swallowed. “Can you tell Hannah I’m sorry?”
There was a pause.
“I can relay messages relevant to legal matters.”
“Please.”
Another pause, longer this time.
Then the attorney said, “Mr. Mitchell, I’m going to speak plainly. Do not make this worse by trying to find her. Your wife documented everything carefully. The court will not respond well to intimidation, emotional pressure, or attempts to bypass counsel.”
“I would never hurt her.”
“Intent is not the only thing courts consider.”
The call ended two minutes later.
I sat there with the phone in my hand, feeling less like a husband than a defendant.
By noon, Vanessa showed up.
I saw her car through the front window.
Red convertible.
Too bright for the street.
Too bright for the day.
She stepped out wearing sunglasses, heels, and the cream coat I had once told her made her look expensive.
I didn’t open the door when she knocked.
“Trevor,” she called. “I know you’re home.”
I stayed in the living room, motionless.
She knocked again.
Then louder.
Finally, I opened it.
Her eyes moved past me into the empty house.
“Wow,” she said. “She really cleaned you out.”
“Leave.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Excuse me?”
“I said leave.”
She removed her sunglasses slowly. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“You’re upset.”
“Yes.”
“So don’t take it out on me.”
I laughed once, dry and empty. “Who should I take it out on?”
“Her,” Vanessa snapped. “She took your child.”
“She took Grace somewhere safe.”
“Safe from what? You?”
I didn’t answer.
Vanessa stepped closer. “Trevor, look at me. She is punishing you. That’s all this is.”
“No,” I said. “She’s protecting herself.”
“And now you’re defending her.”
“She’s my wife.”
“She was your wife yesterday too.”
The sentence struck true, and she knew it.
Her face softened. She reached for my hand.
“Baby, listen. This is scary right now, but it’s also an opportunity. You and me don’t have to hide anymore.”
I looked at her hand on mine.
Perfect nails.
Gold bracelet.
No wedding ring line.
No hospital gown.
No sleepless nights.
No crying baby against her chest at 2 a.m.
I pulled away.
“I don’t want this.”
