Page 32 of Nolan

"Haven't been around?" I cut her off, lowering my voice when I realize people are starting to stare. "You haven't seen her since she was a baby before you showed up on my doorstep. She doesn't know you. You're a stranger to her."

"She's still my daughter," Lisa says, chin lifting in that defiant way I once found attractive and now find infuriating.

"No, she's not." I step closer, my voice dangerously quiet. "You signed away that right. You don't get to waltz in here when it's convenient and play mommy because you're feeling guilty or bored or whatever this is."

"I've changed, Nolan. I'm more mature now. I think I could be good for her,"

"Stop." I hold up a hand. "Listen carefully. You are not part of our family anymore. You need to move the fuck on."

Her eyes narrow. "I have rights,"

"You have exactly zero rights." The anger I've suppressed for years bubbles to the surface. "And if you continue to make yourself a nuisance, I'll take legal action against you. In fact, since I have full custody, I could go after you for child support. How's that trust fund of yours doing these days?"

I see the calculation in her eyes. The trust fund her grandparents left her is her security blanket, the thing that's allowed her to drift through life without consequences. The bullshit about her finding a job and being settled is just that. It's something else she wants to play at. House. Being a mother. Being a productive member of society. It's all a goddamn game to her.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me," I challenge. "Ashlynn has a wonderful life. She's happy, healthy, and loved. She doesn't need you swooping in to confuse her." I don't mention Annabelle, don't tell Lisa that my daughter already has a woman in her life who embodies everything a mother should be. I did that before, and let my emotions get involved. Once Lisa saw that, all she wanted was to fight me. This time, I keep all of that out of the picture.

Lisa's mouth tightens, but I see the moment she backs down. "Fine. I was just trying to do the right thing."

"The right thing would have been staying three years ago. The right thing now is leaving us alone." I turn back to the counter and place my order, two large coffees, a breakfast sandwich for me, a yogurt parfait for Annabelle.

When I look back, Lisa is gone, and the knot in my stomach begins to loosen. I pay for the food and head back toward the elevators, my mind racing. Should I tell Annabelle about this encounter? About Lisa showing up? Part of me wants to protect her from this complication, but another part, the part that reached for her hand across Ashlynn's hospital bed last night, knows she deserves the truth.

The elevator doors open on Ashlynn's floor, and I balance the breakfast tray in one hand as I make my way back to her room. The sound of Annabelle's soft singing reaches me before I even open the door. She's reading a book to Ashlynn, doing different voices for each character, and my daughter is giggling, actually giggling, despite the IV in her arm and the monitors attached to her tiny finger.

I pause in the doorway, taking in the scene, letting it wash away the bitterness of my encounter with Lisa. This is what matters. This moment. These two people who have become my whole world.

Annabelle looks up and smiles when she sees me, her face lighting up in a way that makes my heart skip. "We were wondering what happened to you."

"Sorry," I say, entering the room and setting the tray on the rolling table. "The line was long."

It's not exactly a lie, but it's not the full truth either. I'll tell her about Lisa later, when Ashlynn is asleep or when we're back home. For now, I want to savor this moment of peace we've found in the midst of this crisis.

I hand Annabelle her coffee and unwrap my sandwich. She thanks me, her fingers brushing mine as she takes the cup. That electricity is still there, crackling between us just like it did when I kissed her last week. But now, in the clear light of morning, after a night spent united in our concern for Ashlynn, it feels less frightening. Less like something to run from.

"How's our patient doing?" I ask, sitting on the edge of Ashlynn's bed.

"Better," Annabelle reports. "The nurse came in while you were gone. Her fever's down to 101."

Relief floods through me. "That's great news."

"Daddy," Ashlynn says, reaching for my hand. "Anna says when we go home, we can make jello."

I laugh. "Did she now?"

Annabelle shrugs, her eyes twinkling. "I might have promised certain jello-related bribes to get her to take her medicine."

"Whatever works," I say, and our eyes lock for a moment too long to be casual.

Ashlynn tugs on my hand. "Can Anna come over every day when we go home? Even when I'm better?"

I look at my daughter, then at Annabelle, whose cheeks have flushed slightly pink. "Anna already comes over every day, princess. She's your nanny, remember?"

"No," Ashlynn says with the exasperated patience of a three-year-old explaining something obvious. "I want her to stay forever. Like a mommy."

The room goes very still. Annabelle's eyes widen, and I feel heat crawling up my neck. Leave it to a toddler to cut straight to the heart of the matter.

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