My sister, Paige Morgan, rushed from Austin, Texas, as soon as I called her, and she held my hand through contractions that felt endless while a nurse leaned close and whispered, “Right now it is you and your baby who matter.”
At dawn, my son Mason was born, and when they placed him on my chest, I felt something shift inside me that was stronger than fear.
I realized that Tyler had not left because he was overwhelmed but because he believed there would be no consequences for abandoning us.
Three days later, while Mason slept beside me in a clear hospital bassinet, my phone buzzed with a message from Mr. Fletcher saying, “The estate is officially transferred and you may sign at your convenience.”
I texted back, “Come to the hospital today,” because I did not want to wait any longer to take control of my own future.
He arrived that afternoon in a neat gray suit and carefully reviewed every document while I sat upright in my hospital bed nursing my newborn.
He listed properties in Denver, investment portfolios in New York, shares in several corporations, and trust accounts that were already established in my name.