Page 59 of No Turning Back
She smiles again, softer this time. "You can borrow anything."
I follow her to the bathroom where she hands me a brush, watching as I attempt to tame my hair. After a minute of struggling, she takes it from my hands and helps me, just like my mom used to. The gentle tugging soothes me somehow.
The rest of the week passes in a blur of mundane routine. Clients at work. Awkward small talk with Sam over dinner. Wedance around each other like strangers sharing a space, both pretending the kiss never happened.
Markus’ deposition was pushed, and all attempts to reschedule have been stone walled. I’m pretty sure, Phillip is one more stupid reason away from tattling to the judge.
The only real highlight comes when Kate and Aiden decide to head to Maui next week, and I offer to watch the boys. It's a welcome distraction from the tension at home.
"You sure?" Kate asks, eyeing me suspiciously. "They're a handful."
"I'm sure," I insist. "The boys will love the ranch, and it'll give Sam something to smile about."
When Jackson and Alex arrive Friday afternoon, the ranch transforms. Their energy fills every corner of the house, chasing away the awkward silence that's settled between Sam and me.
"This place is sick!" Jackson exclaims, his lanky teenage frame leaning against the kitchen counter. "Will you get horses?"
"Eventually," Sam says, suddenly animated in a way I haven't seen in weeks. "I need to finish the barn first."
The boys have a blast at the ranch. They spend hours running around with Blue, who seems transformed by their energy, acting more like a puppy than the dignified lady she usually is. I show them the creek that runs along the back of the property, and they immediately start constructing an elaborate dam system that keeps them occupied for hours.
We also test out the bunk beds in the second bedroom that evening. Sam insisted on making them up with fresh sheets, and I'm glad he did when Jackson immediately climbs to the top bunk and starts bouncing like it's a trampoline.
"Dude, be careful!" I call out, but I'm laughing too hard to sound authoritative.
"These are solid," Sam says, giving the frame a shake. "Military-grade construction."
Alex, more reserved than his brother, sits on the bottom bunk watching the show. "If he falls and breaks his neck, I call dibs on his PlayStation."
"You wish," Jackson says, bouncing higher. The metal frame creaks but holds steady.
I smile at their banter, feeling a warmth I haven't experienced in weeks. With the boys here, Sam and I manage to interact almost normally, united in our efforts to entertain them.
But that was days ago. Now I'm sitting in my car outside the mediator's office, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. I wish I could go back to that weekend with the boys, Jackson climbing trees, Alex reading books on the porch, all of us laughing around the dinner table while Sam told ridiculous army stories that had been sanitized for teenage ears.
Instead, I’m here, about to face Markus and his lawyer across a polished conference table.
Turns out I was right, Phillip ended up talking to the judge who told Markus and his lawyer that if they delayed the process anymore, they would both be fined. Markus was deposed the next day and Phillip, definitely didn’t go easy on him.
I check my reflection in the rearview mirror, adjusting my blouse and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The woman staring back at me looks professional, put-together. No one would guess she’s falling apart inside.
“You can do this,” I whisper to myself, grabbing my purse from the passenger seat.
The mediator’s office is one of those modern glass buildings downtown, sleek lines, minimalist décor, too much natural light for the mood I’m in.
The receptionist, a young woman with impossibly straight hair, smiles politely and directs me to a small room with a few chairs, a desk, and a water cooler in the corner.
Before I can even take a seat, the door opens again and Philip steps in. His navy suit is paired with a silver tie, his hair neat as ever.
“Hey, they said you were here,” he says.
“Hi,” I reply. “Am I late?”
“No,” he assures me. “I got here early. Introduced myself to the mediator, we’ve worked together before. He’s a straight shooter.”
Philip closes the door behind him, then sets his briefcase down on the desk. “So, here’s how this is going to go,” he says, lowering his voice just slightly, like we’re already in game-planning mode.
I nod, clutching my purse in my lap.
