His eyes moved from my face to Leo.
For a moment, the founder of Brooks Global Corporation, the man who negotiated billion-dollar contracts without blinking, looked utterly helpless.
“My grandson,” he said, voice low.
I nodded.
His hand hovered near Leo’s tiny back.
“May I?”
I shifted carefully so he could see the baby’s face.
Leo opened his eyes for the first time since we left the hospital. Dark, unfocused, blinking against the light.
My father inhaled sharply.
“He looks like you did,” he murmured. “When your mother brought you home.”
The mention of my mother broke the last thread.
I started crying.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a silent collapse, tears sliding down my face while my father stepped close and wrapped his arms around both of us with impossible gentleness.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You didn’t do this.”
“No,” he said, and his voice turned cold. “But I allowed him near you.”
I pulled back. “Dad.”
“I know. You loved him. You wanted your life to be yours. I respected that.”
His gaze darkened.
“Today, that respect ends.”
Within an hour, my father’s home transformed into a command center.
Dr. Mercer examined my incision in a guest suite and confirmed what I already suspected: I had strained myself badly, but the stitches had not opened. I needed rest, medication, food, and no stress.
No stress.
I almost smiled at that.
While a nurse took Leo to change him in the next room, I sat propped against pillows in one of my father’s guest bedrooms, wrapped in a robe softer than anything in Dominic’s apartment. My phone lay on the blanket, screen lighting up every few minutes.
Dominic had moved from anger to confusion.
Then to accusation.
Then to panic.
Audrey, this isn’t funny.
Where is my son?
My mom says you’re probably at your father’s. Tell him to stay out of our marriage.
I swear, if you embarrass me in front of my family, you’ll regret it.
The last message stayed on the screen.
You’ll regret it.
My father read it once.
He did not raise his voice.
He simply handed the phone to his attorney, Marianne Ellison, who had arrived wearing pearls and the expression of a woman who enjoyed removing dangerous things with surgical neatness.
“Document everything,” she said. “Do not delete messages. Do not respond verbally. Any communication now goes through counsel.”
“He’ll come here,” I said.
My father looked toward Marcus.
“He can try.”
Something about the way he said it made the room feel ten degrees colder.
Marianne opened a leather folder. “Audrey, we need to discuss practical matters. Custody. Temporary protective orders if necessary. Financial separation. The apartment. The vehicle.”
“The SUV is in both our names,” I said automatically.