Okay, we fight together. Together. Friday morning came too fast. Amelia left before dawn, taking her laptop to the public library in the next town over. Emma went to school like normal. Lucas stayed home with Mason, waiting for Jennifer Walsh, with a folder full of documentation and dread sitting heavy in his stomach.
She arrived exactly at 9:00, a woman in her 40s with efficient hair and a practiced expression of neutrality. Lucas let her in, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. Mr. Hayes, thank you for meeting with me. Not like I had much choice. This is just a formality. I’m sure everything is fine. She pulled out a tablet. Can we start with a tour of the house? Lucas walked her through every room.
She took notes, asked questions, examined everything with clinical detachment. The kitchen, the living room, Emma’s bedroom, the nursery. She checked smoke detectors, inspected the bathroom, looked at the food in the fridge. The house is well-maintained, she said, sounding almost surprised. I take care of my kids. I can see that.
She looked at Mason, who was chewing on a toy in his playpen. Can you walk me through a typical day? Feeding schedule, nap times, that sort of thing? Lucas did, explaining their routine in careful detail. Walsh nodded, still taking notes. And Emma’s in school full-time? Yes, first grade. She’s doing well. I have her report cards if you want to see them.
Please. He handed over the folder. Walsh flipped through. Medical records showing both kids were up-to-date on vaccinations, school records showing Emma’s good grades and perfect attendance, bank statements proving he was current on all bills thanks to Amelia’s loan. This is all very thorough, Walsh said. Can I Can I ask who helped you organize this? A friend.
The same friend who’s been living here? Lucas’s stomach dropped. How did you It’s in the complaint, allegations that you have an unstable person living in the home with your children. Walsh set down her tablet. I need to be clear, Mr. Hayes. I’m not here to judge your personal life, but I do need to ensure that anyone living with your children is not a danger to them.
She’s not living here. She’s staying temporarily. For how long? A few weeks, maybe longer. And her name? Lucas hesitated. Giving Amelia’s name would connect her to the complaint, would put her directly in the crosshairs, but lying would be worse. Amelia Sterling. Walsh’s expression shifted slightly, recognition.
The Amelia Sterling? From Sterling Enterprises? Yes. I see. More notes. And what is the nature of your relationship with Ms. Sterling? We’re friends. She needed a place to stay. I had a spare room. Nothing romantic? That’s none of your business. Actually, Mr. Hayes, it is. If you’re in a relationship with someone who has access to your children, I need to assess whether that person is a suitable influence.
Lucas felt his jaw clench. Amelia has been nothing but good for my kids. Emma’s grades have improved. She’s happier. Mason’s sleeping through the night. The house is cleaner. We’re all eating better. If that’s unsuitable influence, then I don’t know what suitable looks like. Walsh was quiet for a moment. I believe you, but I still need to speak with Ms. Sterling.
Is she available? Not right now. When will she be back? I don’t know. Mr. Hayes, I can’t complete my assessment without speaking to everyone living in the home. She’s not living here. She’s staying here. There’s a difference. Not legally, there isn’t. They stared at each other. Mason started fussing. Lucas picked him up automatically, bouncing him gently.
Give me until Monday, Lucas said finally. I’ll make sure Amelia is available then. Walsh considered this. Monday at 2:00, here. If she’s not present, I’ll have to note it as non-compliance in my report. She’ll be here. Good. Walsh packed up her things. For what it’s worth, Mr. Hayes, everything looks fine.
The house is clean, the children are clearly well cared for, and you seem like a competent parent, but I have to follow procedure. I understand. I’ll see you Monday. She left. Lucas stood in the living room, Mason on his hip, trying to process what just happened. They’d bought 3 days. 3 days to figure out how to handle this without it blowing up in their faces.
Amelia came back an hour later. Lucas explained the situation, the questions, the assessment, the Monday deadline. They know you’re here, he finished. They know your name, and they want to interview you. Amelia sat heavily at the kitchen table. Of course they do. Can you do it? Talk to her without making things worse? I don’t know.
What am I supposed to say? Yes, I’m a billionaire hiding from my own company. Yes, I’m technically homeless because I ran away from my life. Yes, I’ve been staying with a man I barely knew 3 months ago. She laughed bitterly. That’ll sound great. Then we tell the truth. You needed help. I needed help. We helped each other. And the part where we’re uh She gestured vaguely between them.
Whatever this is? We tell her that, too. That we care about each other, that you care about my kids, that this isn’t some unstable situation. It’s just people trying to figure out how to live. Lucas, they’ll use it against us. They’ll say I’m a bad influence, that I’m using you, that I’m putting your kids at risk by bringing my corporate drama into your home.
Let them say it. We know it’s not true. But does the truth matter if they have the power to take Emma and Mason away? The question hung in the air between them, heavy and terrible. Lucas looked at Mason sleeping peacefully in his arms and felt fear twist in his gut. It has to matter, he said, because if it doesn’t, then we’ve already lost.
The weekend before Monday’s interview stretched impossibly long. Lucas found himself watching Amelia with Emma and Mason, cataloging moments like he was trying to memorize them before they disappeared. The way Amelia helped Emma practice multiplication tables at the kitchen table. The way she sang to Mason when he wouldn’t settle.
