David let out a short, cold laugh. “You can’t even afford your own legal bills, Catherine. How exactly are you planning to take two kids overseas?”
“You don’t need to worry about my finances.”
“Those are my children,” he snapped.
“And yet you just signed paperwork giving me permission to take them.”
His mouth opened, then closed again.
For the first time that morning, uncertainty crossed his face.
Not regret. Not heartbreak.
Only uncertainty.
I stood and lifted my bag onto my shoulder. “You said you were in a hurry. Your mistress is waiting.”
His expression darkened instantly. “Don’t start pretending you have pride now. You lost.”
I bent down and lifted my daughter Chloe onto my hip. She had been quietly coloring in the reception area with the kind of careful silence children learn when adults disappoint them too often. My son Aiden walked over beside me and slipped his hand into mine.
Then, almost as though heaven itself had arranged the timing, a black Mercedes SUV stopped outside the building entrance.
The driver stepped out, opened the rear passenger door, and asked, “Ms. Harlow, are you ready?”
David stared at the vehicle, then at me. “What is this?”
I looked at him one final time.
What I wanted to say was: This is what happens when the woman you underestimated finally stops begging for scraps.
What I actually said was, “From this moment forward, the children and I won’t interfere with your new life.”
I walked out before he could respond.
Behind me, I heard Megan whisper sharply, “She’s bluffing.”
