Page 128 of Ink Me Three Times
I cringe.
I moved to this town for her, and yes, we did have good times. But she left. We don’t have aspotanymore.
But is there any point in arguing…?
Trina is already there when I walk in to the cafe, dressed as if she’s been plucked out of a lifestyle influencer’s Pinterest board, soft waves, creamy sweater, lips a little too pink.
She looks like someone who wants to be taken seriously.
She looks like someone who practiced in the mirror.
“Freddie,” she says with a smile that makes my stomach churn. “Thanks for coming.”
I don’t sit right away. I just stand there for a second, scanning her face. I used to know every curve of it, every trick it could pull. Now it just feels… unfamiliar. Cold beneath the polish.
I take the seat across from her, folding my arms over my chest.
“This about Penny?” I ask. No point playing games.
Trina sips her drink. Some kind of herbal tea. “Of course,” she says lightly. “What else would it be about?”
I don’t answer. I just wait.
“I’ve been in therapy,” she starts, eyes locking onto mine, hoping to impress me. “Doing a lot of work. And I realized… I made a lot of mistakes. I wasn’t ready to be a mom before. I was selfish. I let fear run the show.”
I blink. She’s not wrong.
“But I’ve changed,” she says quickly. “I’ve got a new job. And I’ve been looking at a new place nearby. It’ll be stable. Clean. There will be space for Penny. I think… I’d like to be in her life again.”
There it is.
The part where the hammer drops.
“‘Be in her life again’ meaning what, exactly?” I ask. My voice stays even, but barely.
Her smile falters just slightly. “I’d like custody.”
My hands curl into fists under the table. I fight to keep my expression still, unreadable. “You want to go to court?”
“I don’twantto. But if I have to, I will.” She sets her cup down. “I have a right to be part of my daughter’s life.”
My laugh is sharp and bitter. “You had that right. And you walked out. You didn’t just leave me, Trina, you left her. She cried for you for weeks.”
“I told you why I left,” she says, suddenly softer. “I had to sort myself out.”
“I know you disappeared. I know you haven’t called, written, asked about her once in years. Now suddenly you’re back and ready to play house?”
“I’ve changed.”
That again.
“Okay,” I say. “What’s Penny’s favorite color?”
She blinks.
“What song does she ask for every night before bed?” I press on. “What’s the name of the stuffed rabbit she takes everywhere? When was the last time she had an allergic reaction?”
Her silence is deafening.
