Chapter 4

Okay.

My hands shake typing back that one word, but I make myself send it.

Rowan's fever breaks by morning. Two days later, we head to Julian's place to grab our IDs — the ones we'll need to make this divorce official.

Before I knock, I slide my phone into my pocket, recording already running.

I brace myself walking in. It still catches me off guard — Ivy, curled up on the couch in my robe.

She doesn't even bother hiding it anymore. Just tilts her head at me, all sunshine.

"You're getting divorced anyway, sister. You're not the lady of this house. You don't mind if I borrow your things, right?"

I don't answer. I just look around. Two days, and this house — eight years of my life — already looks like it belongs to someone else.

I pull Rowan toward the bedroom without a word. Ivy drifts to the fridge and comes back holding a cake.

"Here, Rowan. You never got to eat yours at the party. Auntie Ivy saved you one."

Her smile is bright and clean and every word out of her mouth is poison.

Rowan's birthday, ruined in front of half the family — and Ivy's still rubbing salt in it, smiling the whole time.

"I know you're not Julian's kid," Ivy says, crouching to Rowan's eye level, "but that's not your fault, is it? Come on. Try it."

Rowan's face drains white. Her fingers dig into my sleeve.

I hold my temper by a thread. "We're good."

Ivy doesn't drop it. "Waiting for Julian to cut it for you? I can call him down."

She turns back to Rowan, voice syrupy.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I already told him — even after your parents split, he'll still take care of you. For my sake."

Rowan goes even paler, knuckles white where she's gripping my shirt.

My stomach turns looking at that cake. Before I can think better of it, my hand's already moving — I sweep it off the counter.

It hits the floor. Frosting splatters across the carpet in a wide, ugly arc.

Ivy gasps like she's been struck, tears springing up instantly. "Sister — I was just trying to be nice. How could you do that?"

That's when Julian walks in.

His face darkens. The slap lands before I even see it coming.

"Kyla. Enough. Haven't you humiliated yourself enough for one week?"

I laugh. I actually laugh.

"You faked a paternity test on her birthday. No shame. You paraded Ivy through the ER in front of me. Still no shame." I tilt my chin up. "A cake breaks, and suddenly that's where you draw the line?"

Julian's jaw tightens. "Watch your mouth. Keep throwing accusations around and see what happens."

He shoves me and Rowan back toward the bedroom.

"Get in there and think about what you've done. City Hall, first thing tomorrow. You're the one who broke this marriage — you walk away with nothing. Not one cent of this family's money."

The door locks behind us.

Whatever's left of my composure goes with it. I sit on the floor and cry until there's nothing left, Rowan folded into my arms.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. I couldn't protect you."

Rowan reaches up with one small hand and wipes my cheek, like she's the one comforting me.

"Don't cry, Mom." Her voice is steady in a way seven-year-olds shouldn't be able to manage. "If Dad doesn't want us — then we don't want him either."

Looking at my daughter's face that night, something in me finally settles into place.

I know exactly what I'm going to do.