Six months after our divorce, my ex-husband showed up at my door with his fiancée and a wedding invitation in hand—but the second he saw the newborn in my arms, all the color drained from his face, and the perfect life he thought he’d built started falling apart right in front of me.

“Yes. And you should. Refusing creates suspicion where none needs to exist. But it happens on medical terms, not emotional ones.” She glanced at the notes she had taken. “Your baby is premature. That matters. Stability matters. Limited exposure matters. Your role as his primary caregiver matters. Courts care about demonstrated care, not dramatic family speeches.”

Maya pointed at me. “Tell her the thing about his mother trying to take over.”

I did.

Catherine nodded as if she had expected it. “Classic pressure campaign. They won’t start by trying to seize the baby. They’ll start by offering help. Money. Staff. Caregivers. Specialists. Transportation. The point is not generosity. The point is dependency.”

I thought of Ethan saying, I’ll take care of it all.

The words curdled in my memory.

“What do I do?”