Chapter 6
Denise filed for divorce before I did.
The notice arrived on a Tuesday afternoon.
I was sitting in my office reviewing construction schedules when my assistant brought in a large envelope.
"Mr. Carter, this came by courier."
I thanked her.
Then I opened it.
The first page contained Denise's petition.
I read it twice.
My stomach tightened.
She was claiming she'd been unfairly forced from the marital home.
She wanted temporary financial support.
And she accused me of creating a hostile environment after a disagreement about Lily's discipline.
I stared at the words.
A disagreement.
That was how she described what happened.
Not the recordings.
Not the threats.
Not my daughter's fear.
Just a disagreement.
I called Thomas immediately.
He told me he'd expected something like this.
"We'll respond with the facts."
I rubbed my forehead.
"She's lying."
"Then we'll document the contradictions."
I took a breath.
"What about Lily?"
"Her well-being remains our priority."
I nodded.
Then Thomas added:
"Marcus, Denise has also requested access to certain household financial records."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"She claims she contributed significantly to your business operations."
I almost laughed.
Denise had never worked for my construction company.
She occasionally attended business dinners with me.
But she didn't manage employees.
Handle contracts.
Or contribute investment capital.
"That's not true."
"Then we'll establish the records."
I ended the call feeling exhausted.
For weeks, I'd been trying to help Lily recover.
Now Denise was turning our marriage into another battle.
That evening, I picked Lily up from kindergarten.
She ran toward me carrying a painting.
"Daddy!"
I lifted her into my arms.
"Hey, princess."
She held up the paper.
"I painted our house!"
I smiled.
The picture showed a large yellow house with flowers outside.
Two people stood near the door.
One tall.
One small.
I pointed.
"Who's that?"
"You."
"And this?"
"Me."
I kissed her cheek.
"It's beautiful."
She smiled.
Then she looked serious.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"Can Aunt Angela come over again?"
I nodded.
"Of course."
She grinned.
"She makes the funny voices when she reads."
I laughed.
"She certainly does."
That night, Angela came for dinner.
She brought a new storybook and a bag of groceries.
After Lily went upstairs, I showed her the divorce petition.
Angela read silently.
Then she sighed.
"Marcus, this is going to be difficult."
"I know."
"But don't let it pull you away from Lily."
I nodded.
"I won't."
She looked at me carefully.
"Have you thought about getting support for yourself?"
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"A counselor."
I almost laughed.
"Angela, I'm fine."
She raised an eyebrow.
I looked away.
Then sighed.
"Okay. I'm not fine."
She squeezed my hand.
"You've been through a lot."
I nodded.
I had.
I was angry.
Ashamed.
Terrified that Lily would carry this fear into adulthood.
And guilty that I hadn't noticed sooner.
The following week, I attended my first counseling session.
I didn't expect much.
But after twenty minutes, I found myself talking about Lily's mother, Jasmine.
She'd died from complications following a serious illness when Lily was two.
Losing Jasmine nearly destroyed me.
I'd been left with a toddler, a demanding business, and grief that never seemed to end.
For a long time, I believed I'd never love anyone again.
Then Denise appeared.
She was warm.
Confident.
Kind to Lily.
Or so I thought.
I told the counselor how grateful I'd been when Denise offered to help.
How relieved I'd felt.
How desperately I'd wanted Lily to have another maternal figure.
Then my voice broke.
"I think I wanted it so badly that I ignored things."
The counselor listened.
Then asked:
"What do you believe Lily needs from you now?"
I thought about it.
"Consistency."
"What else?"
"Patience."
I swallowed.
"To know I believe her."
The counselor nodded.
"And what do you need?"
I stared at the floor.
For a moment, I couldn't answer.
Then I whispered:
"To forgive myself enough to be present."
That sentence stayed with me.
Over the next month, Lily began attending play therapy.
At first, she barely spoke.
She preferred drawing.
Building houses with blocks.
Playing with dolls.
Her therapist, Dr. Simone Harris, allowed her to lead.
I attended parent sessions and learned how to respond when Lily became anxious.
We created routines.
Breakfast together.
A goodbye hug before school.
A short phone call during my lunch break.
Story time every night.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing expensive.
Just predictable love.
Gradually, Lily changed.
She started singing again.
She ran through the hallway.
She asked endless questions.
And when she accidentally dropped something, she no longer immediately burst into tears.
The first time that happened, I nearly cried.
We were making cookies.
She dropped a spoon.
It clattered onto the floor.
Lily froze for one second.
Then she looked at me.
"Oops."
I smiled.
"Oops."
She laughed.
I picked up the spoon.
And that was all.
No punishment.
No fear.
Just a dropped spoon.
The way it should have been.
But our legal situation remained complicated.
Denise's attorney continued requesting documents.
Thomas responded.
The recordings were preserved.
Jordan had provided a written statement through the appropriate process.
And Lily's care professionals were documenting her progress without involving her in unnecessary adult disputes.
Then one Friday afternoon, Thomas called.
"Marcus, we have a development."
I sat upright.
"What happened?"
"Jordan has contacted my office."
My stomach tightened.
"Is he okay?"
"Yes."
I exhaled.
"What does he want?"
"He says he has additional information."
I frowned.
"About what?"
Thomas paused.
"About Denise's financial claims."
I stared at the wall.
May you like
Then he continued:
"Jordan says his mother has been using his bank account to hide money."
