The guest room became my world. White walls. A single window. A bed I didn't sleep in.
I sat at the small desk in the corner with a laptop and a yellow legal pad. The cursor blinked on the screen. I typed slowly at first. Then faster.
*Voluntary Relinquishment of Parental Rights and Custody Agreement.*
The words looked strange. Clinical. Like something that happened to other people.
I kept typing.
Outside the door, I heard Dane's voice. Then Yasmin's laugh, soft and musical. The sound of glasses clinking. They were having wine in the living room. Or she was having wine. He was probably having scotch.
I saved the document. Opened a new one.
*Personal Statement of Intent.*
My hands hovered over the keyboard. I thought about the drum kit Victoria had destroyed. The way the cymbals had looked, bent and ruined in the garage. I thought about my mother's letters, bleeding into coffee stains on the closet floor. I thought about Dane's hand, still raised after he pushed me.
I started typing again.
It took two hours. When I finished, I read it through once. Then I picked up my phone and called the number Ezra had sent me that morning.
A man answered on the first ring. His voice was crisp. Professional. "Miles Calloway."
"Ezra Stephens gave me your number," I said.
"Ms. Brooks. I've been expecting your call."
"I have two documents. I need them finalized and notarized as quickly as possible."
"I can have someone at your location tomorrow morning. Nine a.m."
"Not here." I looked at the closed door. "Somewhere else."
A pause. "There's a café on the corner of Lexington and 63rd. Second floor. Private booths."
"Nine a.m.," I said.
I hung up.
The baby moved. A small kick against my ribs. I pressed my hand to my stomach and felt the shape of a foot. Or an elbow. Something solid. Something real.
I felt nothing.
---
The notary was a thin woman with reading glasses on a chain. She watched me sign both documents without expression. Her pen scratched across the witness line. She pressed her seal into the paper with a heavy thunk that felt final.
"You'll receive copies within twenty-four hours," Miles said. He slid the documents into a leather folder. "And Ms. Brooks—" He paused. "Are you certain?"
I looked at him. He had kind eyes. Tired.
"Yes," I said.
He nodded. "Mr. Stephens will have everything he needs."
I left the café and took a cab back to the penthouse. Dane was gone. Yasmin was in the kitchen, arranging pastries on a plate. She looked up when I walked in.
"Oh good, you're back. I was worried." She smiled. "I made coffee. Decaf, of course."
I walked past her. Down the hall. Into the guest room.
I put the envelope in the drawer of the bedside table. Closed it. Sat down on the bed.
Outside, I heard Yasmin humming.
---
Ezra chose a small Italian place in the West Village. The kind with checkered tablecloths and candles in wine bottles. We sat in the back corner. He ordered water. So did I.
"Tell me," he said quietly.
So I did.
I told him about the shove. The hospital. The keepsakes. Yasmin's lavender diffuser and Dane's cufflinks and the way no one had asked me how I was feeling in three weeks. I told him about the drum kit. About my mother's letters. About the watch that said *For all our tomorrows* and now said nothing at all.
He listened. He didn't interrupt. He didn't check his phone. He didn't straighten his cufflinks because he wasn't wearing any. Just a simple shirt. Rolled sleeves. Hands folded on the table.
When I finished, he was quiet for a long time.
"Are you certain?" he asked finally.
The same question Miles had asked. The same question I'd been asking myself for two weeks.
"Yes," I said.
He nodded slowly. "Then I'll do it. Full custody. Dane has no claim. I'll make sure of it."
"Thank you."
He looked at me. Really looked at me. There was something in his expression I couldn't name. Something old. Carefully guarded.
"You deserved better than this," he said quietly.
I didn't know what to say to that. So I said nothing.
We finished our water. He paid. We walked out into the cool October air. He offered me a ride. I told him I'd take a cab.
He nodded. Started to leave. Then stopped.
"Ashlyn—" He turned back. "If you need anything. Anything at all."
"I know," I said.
He left.
I stood on the sidewalk and watched him disappear into the crowd. Then I hailed a cab and went back to the penthouse.
---
Dane was on the phone when I walked in. He was pacing in the living room, laughing at something. He saw me and held up one finger. *One minute.*
I went to the bedroom. Lay down. Stared at the ceiling.
Twelve across. Eight down.
He came in twenty minutes later. Sat on the edge of the bed.
"I'm planning something for Yasmin's birthday," he said. "Just a small thing. Rooftop at The Ashford. Chef, champagne, close friends."
I didn't respond.
"I got her a bracelet. Diamonds. She's been through a lot lately." He paused. "I thought you'd want to know."
"Okay," I said.
He frowned. "That's it? Okay?"
I turned my head to look at him. "What do you want me to say?"
He stood up. Straightened his cufflinks. "Nothing. Never mind."
He left.
I reached for my phone. Opened my calendar. Found the date of my next prenatal appointment. Opened the emergency contact field.
I deleted Dane's name.
Typed Ezra's.
Saved it.
The baby kicked. I pressed my hand to my stomach and felt nothing at all.
