Brook Two weeks later, and I still didn't know if I was doing the right thing. Four therapy sessions. Four excruciating hours of sitting across from Tyson in Dr. Morrison's office, trying to articulate the magnitude of what he'd broken while he sat there looking like I was killing him with every word. The first session, I'd barely been able to speak. I'd just cried while Dr. Morrison asked gentle questions and Tyson stared at his hands, his jaw working like he was physically holding back words. The second session, I'd found my voice. I'd told him exactly how it felt when he walked out. When he looked at our son—our beautiful, innocent son—and saw a lie instead of the child we'd made together. When he chose his sister's word over mine, over five years of marriage, over everything we'd built. Tyson had broken down completely. Sobbed so hard he couldn't breathe. Apologized until the words lost meaning. The third session, we'd talked about trust. Or rather, Dr. Morrison had talked about trust while Tyson and I sat in miserable silence, both knowing that what we'd had was gone. That even if we rebuilt something, it would never be the same foundation. The fourth session, yesterday, had been about co-parenting. About putting Preston and Sofia first, even if Tyson and I couldn't fix what was broken between us. I didn't know if therapy was helping. I didn't know if anything could help. But Sofia was getting stronger every day. The doctors said she might be able to come home in a week, maybe less. She was breathing on her own now, gaining weight, her tiny body fighting with everything she had. And Preston needed to meet his sister. I'd been putting it off, making excuses. He was too young, the NICU was too scary, he might get her sick. But the truth was, I didn't want to share this with Tyson. These moments with Sofia felt like mine— the only thing he hadn't tainted with his betrayal. But that wasn't fair to Preston. Or to Sofia. So here we were, walking through the hospital corridors, Preston's small hand in mine, Tyson on his other side. "Is baby Sofia really, really small?" Preston asked for the third time. He'd been asking questions nonstop since I'd told him this morning that today was the day. "Really small," I confirmed, squeezing his hand. "Smaller than your teddy bear." "Wow." His eyes went wide. "Can I hold her?" "Not yet,
buddy," Tyson said quietly. "She's still getting stronger. But you can see her through the special bed she's in." I hated that Tyson's voice was so gentle. So patient. It would be easier if he was an asshole, if I could just hate him cleanly. But he was trying so hard, showing up for every therapy session, texting me, asking for updates about Preston, asking about Sofia with such desperate hope in his eyes. It made everything more complicated. We reached the NICU, and I helped Preston wash his hands at the special sink, showing him how to scrub between his fingers like the nurses had taught me. Tyson washed his hands too, and I caught him watching us in the mirror, his expression so full of longing it made my chest ache. I looked away. "Okay, baby," I said to Preston, drying his hands. "Remember what Mommy said? We have to be very quiet in here . There are lots of tiny babies sle eping." Preston nodded solemnly, his little face serious. "I'll be super quiet. Like a mouse." "Good boy." I led him into the NICU, past the other isolettes with their be eping monitors and worried parents. Some of the nurses smiled at Preston, and Diane, Sofia's primary nurse, came over immediately. "This must be big brother," she said warmly. Preston looked up at me, suddenly shy, and pressed against my leg. "This is Preston," I said. "Preston, this is Miss Diane. She takes care of Sofia when Mommy or Daddy can't be here." "Hi," Preston whispered. "Hi, Preston. Your sister is going to be so happy to meet you." Diane gestured toward Sofia's isolette. "Come on, I'll show you." We walked over, and I lifted Preston up so he could see through the clear plastic. His mouth fell open. "She's so tiny," he breathed. "She is," I agreed, my throat tight. "But she's strong. Just like you." Sofia was awake, her dark eyes open, one tiny fist near her mouth. She'd grown in the past two weeks—she was up to almost four and a half pounds now—but she was still so impossibly small. Still had the feeding tube, the monitor leads, the IV in her tiny hand. "Hi, baby Sofia," Preston said softly. "I'm your big brother. I'm gonna protect you forever and ever." Something cracked open in my chest. I looked at Tyson and found him staring at Preston with tears streaming down his face, his hand pressed to his mouth. Our eyes met, and for just a second, it was like before. Like we were a team, a unit, two people who'd created these perfect children together. Then I remembered why we were here s eparately, why I'd spent the past two weeks sle eping alone, why my lawyer had divorce papers ready to file. I looked away. "Can I touch her?" Preston asked. "Very gently," Diane said, opening one of the isolette's portholes. "Just one finger, okay? On her hand." I helped Preston reach in, guiding his small finger to Sofia's palm. Her tiny fingers curled around it instinctively, and Preston gasped. "She's holding me! Mommy, she's holding me!" "She is, baby." I was crying now too, couldn't help it. "She knows you're her big brother." "I love her so much," Preston whispered. "She's the best sister ever." Tyson made a choked sound, and when I glanced at him, he'd turned away, his shoulders shaking. Good, I thought viciously. He should hurt. He should feel every bit of what he almost lost. But then another part of me—the part that had loved him since I was eighteen, that had built a life with him, that had given him two children—wanted to reach for him. Wanted to let
him hold me while we watched our son fall in love with his sister. I didn't reach for him though, I couldn’t. Preston talked to Sofia for another ten minutes, telling her about his toys, about his room, about how he was going to teach her to play trucks when she got bigger. Sofia watched him with those dark, serious eyes, and I wondered if she could understand somehow that this was her brother, her protector. Finally, Preston started to get restless, and I knew it was time to go. "We'll come back soon," I promised him. "Maybe tomorrow." "Can Daddy come too?" Preston asked, and my heart sank. "If Mommy says it's okay," Tyson said quickly, looking at me with desperate hope. I wanted to say no. Wanted to ke ep these moments s eparate, ke ep Tyson at arm's length where he couldn't hurt me anymore, while still knowing it wasn’t fair. But Preston was looking at me with those big eyes, and I couldn't do it. "Yes," I said quietly. "Daddy can come." The relief on Tyson's face was almost painful to witness. We walked out together, Preston between us, chattering about Sofia. In the elevator, Preston reached for both our hands, linking us together, and I felt Tyson's fingers brush mine. I pulled away. In the parking lot, Tyson knelt down to hug Preston goodbye. "I love you, buddy. Be good for Mommy, okay?" "I will. Love you, Daddy. "Love you too. So much." I watched them, my heart a mess of contradictions. Tyson was a good father. He loved Preston and Sofia with everything he had. That had never been in question. But he'd doubted Preston. He'd looked at our son and believed he wasn't his. How did I reconcile those two truths? "Brook," Tyson said as he stood up. "Thank you. For today. For letting me be there." "I'm not doing it for you," I said, reminding him of the words I'd said two weeks ago. "I'm doing it for them." "I know. But still. Thank you." I nodded and turned toward my car, Preston's hand in mine. "Mommy?" Preston said as I buckled him into his car seat. "Why doesn't Daddy live with us anymore?" My hands froze on the buckle. We'd been avoiding this conversation, giving him vague answers about Daddy staying somewhere else for a little while. "It's complicated, baby." "But he loves us, right? And we love him?" "Yes," I whispered. "We do." "Then why—" "Preston, honey, Mommy will explain when you're older, okay? Right now, let's just focus on Sofia getting strong enough to come home." He seemed to acc ept that, and I closed his door, leaning against the car for a moment to collect myself. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting a text from Lake or one of my friends. Instead, it was a number I didn't have saved, but I recognized it immediately. Tyson's mother. Juni : Brook, please. We need to talk. We want to see Preston and meet Sofia. Please call me . I stared at the message, rage building in my chest like a living thing. Another text came through, this one from Tyson's father's number. John : Brook, this has gone on long enough. We're Preston and Sofia's grandparents. We have a right to see them. Whatever happened between you and Tyson, the children shouldn't suffer for it. A right. They thought they had a right to my children. The children they'd helped take away from their father when they believed Celeste's lies. When they'd given Tyson a place to stay, supported him, told him he was right to leave. My hands were shaking as I typed out a
response to June. Me : You are not welcome around me or MY children. You believed your daughter's lies over me. You supported Tyson when he abandoned his pregnant wife and son. You don't get to pretend to be loving grandparents now. Stay away from MY family. I sent it before I could second-guess myself, then typed out a similar message to John. Me : You have no rights to MY children. You lost that when you chose Celeste over the truth. Do not contact me again. I blocked both numbers, my heart pounding. Preston was singing to himself in the backseat, oblivious to the storm raging inside me. I took a de ep breath, then another, trying to calm down before I started driving. My phone rang. Lake. "Hey," I answered. "Hey, how'd it go? Did Preston meet Sofia?" "Yeah. It was..." I swallowed hard. "It was really sweet. He was so gentle with her, Lake. He told her he'd protect her forever." "Oh, Brook." Lake's voice was soft. "That's beautiful." "Tyson's parents just texted me. Both of them. Wanting to see the kids." "What?" Lake's tone sharpened. "What did you say?" "I told them to stay away. That they're not welcome around my children." "Good. Fuck them. They don't get to play happy grandparents after what they did." "They said they have a right to see Preston and Sofia." "They have no rights. They're lucky you're even letting Tyson see them after what he did." I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the car. "I don't know if I'm doing the right thing. With Tyson. With therapy. With any of it." "You're doing what you need to do for your kids. That's all that matters." "Is it? Because I don't know if I can forgive him, Lake. I don't know if I can ever trust him again. And if I can't, then what's the point of therapy? What's the point of any of this?" "The point is that you have two children who need their father. Even if you and Tyson can't fix your marriage, you need to figure out how to co-parent. That's what therapy is for." She was right. I knew she was right. But it didn't make it hurt any less. "I should go. Preston's in the car." "Okay. Call me later?" "Yeah. Love you." "Love you too." I hung up and sat there for another moment, trying to pull myself together. Then I started the car and headed home, Preston's cheerful voice filling the silence. That evening, after Preston was in bed, I was sitting on the couch with my laptop, looking at pictures of Sofia that I'd taken today, when my phone buzzed. Husband : Can I call you? It's important. I stared at the message, debating. We'd been ke eping our communication to texts, brief and businesslike. Calls felt too intimate, too much like before. But he said it was important. Me : Fine . The phone rang immediately. "Hey," Tyson said, and I hated how my heart still reacted to his voice. "Thanks for picking up." "What's important?" "My parents called me. Both of them. They said you told them to stay away from Preston and Sofia." "I did." "Good." I blinked. "What?" "Good. They don't deserve to see our kids right now. Maybe not ever, d epending on how they handle this." "Tyson—" "Let me finish. Please." He took a breath. "They called me to try to get me on their side. Said you were being unreasonable, that they're the grandparents, that they have rights. My dad actually said you were ke eping the kids from them to punish them." The rage flared again. "Of course he did." "I told them they were lucky you were even speaking to me. That they had no right to see Preston or Sofia after what they did.
After they believed Celeste, after they supported me when I should have been groveling at your feet from day one." My throat went tight. "You said that?" "I said a lot more than that. I told them that if they ever want a relationship with their grandchildren, they need to earn it. They need to apologize to you—really apologize, not just say sorry because they want something. They need to prove they can be trusted. And even then, it's your decision. Not mine. Yours." I couldn't speak. Couldn't process what I was hearing. "My mom started crying," Tyson continued. "Said I was choosing you over my family. And I told her that you are my family. You and Preston and Sofia. That they stopped being my family the second they believed I wasn't Preston's father." "Tyson—" "I'm texting you screenshots of the conversation. I want you to see exactly what I said. I want you to know that I meant every word." His voice cracked. "I know I fucked up, Brook. I know I chose wrong when it mattered most. But I'm choosing right now. I'm choosing you and our kids, and I will ke ep choosing you for the rest of my life if you'll let me." Tears were streaming down my face. I wiped at them angrily, frustrated that he could still affect me like this. "I have to go," I whispered. "Okay. But Brook? I meant what I said. About all of it." I hung up without responding. A moment later, the screenshots came through. I opened them, reading through the conversation. Tyson hadn't exaggerated. If anything, he'd downplayed it. He'd eviscerated his parents. Told them they'd failed him as parents by raising Celeste to think she could manipulate people without consequences. Told them they'd failed me by not defending me. Told them they didn't deserve to be grandparents if they couldn't be trusted to put the children first. His mother had begged. His father had gotten angry, said Tyson was being controlled by me. And Tyson had shut it down. Told them he was done with the conversation, that they could reach out again when they were ready to genuinely apologize to me and acc ept whatever boundaries I set. Then he'd blocked their numbers. I stared at the screenshots, my vision blurring with tears. This was what I'd needed two weeks ago. This unwavering support. This absolute certainty that he was on my side. But he'd given it to Celeste instead. He'd given it to his parents. He'd given it to everyone exc ept me when I'd needed it most. Could I forgive that? Could I move past it? I didn't know. But as I looked at the screenshots again, at the way Tyson had defended me and our children, I felt something shift. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But maybe the smallest possibility of it. Maybe. I set my phone down and pulled my laptop closer, going back to the pictures of Sofia. Of Preston meeting his sister for the first time, his face full of wonder and love. My children deserved a father. They deserved a family. The question was whether I could give them that without destroying myself in the process. I still didn't have an answer. But for the first time in two weeks, I thought maybe—just maybe—I might find one.