Chapter 4 - The Night Preston Called
“The doctor thinks I’m not the father.”
Preston’s voice sounded unlike him.
Not angry yet.
Unsteady.
I sat in the darkness of my Lisbon bedroom.
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said my vasectomy makes it unlikely.”
“Did he?”
“He asked Brielle where she was in February.”
“And?”
“She lied.”
I closed my eyes.
“What do you want from me?”
“You knew my follow-up results.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you say anything when she got pregnant?”
“Because by then you were having an affair and preparing to divorce me.”
“You could have told me.”
“Preston, you had your own medical records.”
He went silent.
Then:
“I thought it failed.”
“Maybe it did.”
“She agreed to test.”
“Then wait for result.”
His breathing changed.
“Grant was in Aspen with her.”
I said nothing.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“You hate my family. You must have heard something.”
“I live on another continent and have been divorced three weeks.”
“That never stopped Hartwells from knowing things.”
There it was.
When afraid, Preston returned to old rivalries.
“Do not call me at two in the morning to accuse my father’s family of spying on yours.”
“Lena.”
“What?”
“If it isn’t mine…”
He stopped.
“If it isn’t mine what?”
“I made a mistake.”
“With Brielle?”
“With everything.”
I felt something inside me go still.
“What does everything mean?”
“The girls.”
I knew.
Still, hearing it made me furious.
“Ava and Sophie do not become more valuable because another baby might not be yours.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Three weeks ago you said take the girls because you had a son.”
“I was angry.”
“You were proud.”
Silence.
“Bring them home.”
“No.”
“Lena.”
“You have scheduled parenting time.”
“I want them back in New York.”
“You voluntarily agreed to Lisbon as primary residence.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
Another silence.
“Before your replacement son might belong to someone else?”
“That is not what I mean.”
“It is exactly what you mean.”
His voice rose.
“You cannot keep punishing me forever.”
I lowered my voice.
“I am going to say this once. The divorce is final. The relocation is lawful. The girls are not bargaining chips. If you want a custody modification, talk to your attorney.”
“You sound like Sarah.”
“Good.”
He laughed bitterly.
“You really are finished.”
“Yes.”
I ended the call.
Two minutes later:
PRESTON:
YOU’RE USING THIS TO DESTROY ME.
Screenshot.
Saved.
Not revenge.
Documentation.
Then:
PRESTON:
I WANT THE GIRLS HOME.
I answered through the parenting app the next morning.
Preston called outside agreed hours regarding custody following uncertainty concerning Brielle’s pregnancy. The girls remain available for scheduled contact. Please route modification requests through counsel.
Sarah replied:
Perfect.
At breakfast, Ava watched me.
“Dad called.”
“Yes.”
“Is the baby okay?”
“As far as I know.”
“Then why was he upset?”
I hesitated.
She studied my face.
“Is it because it might not be his?”
My fork stopped.
“What did you hear?”
“Grandma Victoria called me.”
I felt cold.
“What did she say?”
“She asked if Dad told us anything about Uncle Grant.”
I closed my eyes.
Adults.
Always outsourcing consequences to children.
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing.”
“Good.”
“Is Grant the dad?”
“We don’t know.”
Ava frowned.
“But maybe.”
“Maybe.”
“Then Dad wants us again because he might not have a son.”
The word again broke something in me.
“He always had you.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
I moved beside her.
“I know.”
She whispered:
“If baby was Dad’s, would he be calling?”
I could not lie.
“I don’t know.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
That afternoon, Dr. Costa met with both girls.
I told Preston through the parenting app that Victoria had contacted Ava about paternity and requested all adults stop discussing it with children.
He responded:
I DID NOT TELL MY MOTHER TO CALL.
For once, I believed him.
Then:
May you like
I’LL HANDLE IT.
That was the first sign Preston’s anger might finally turn toward the people who had helped build his beliefs.
