You do not act alone. You call Sandra. You send her that text. You let her tell you how to respond. Do you understand?
Sophia looked up at him. Her eyes were steady, but he could see the fear underneath. Real fear, not panic, but the specific fear of someone who has been alone long enough that being threatened is not an abstract thing. Yes, she said. Good, she called Sandra.
He stepped into the kitchen and let her talk. Gave her the privacy of it and stood at the kitchen window with his hands on the counter and looked out at the afternoon and felt very clearly the line he was standing at. He had let Sophia and Noah into his house as an act of decency. That was how it started. That was the frame he had given it.
But what was happening now, the attorney, the threat, the instinct that had moved through him when he saw that ex like cold water through a hot engine. This was not decency. This was something else. And he was going to have to name it soon. He heard Sophia in the living room talking to Sandra, her voice low and measured and more composed than he would have been.
He heard her give the dates, the details, the content of the letter from Atlanta, the text. He heard Sandra say something he couldn't make out. And he heard Sophia exhale with the sound of someone who has be given something solid to stand on for the first time in a while. When she came into the kitchen 20 minutes later, she said. Sandra says the text is actually helpful.
It documents that he's been tracking my location, which changes the nature of his claim. She says it makes him look like the aggressor. Good. James said she's filing a motion Monday to have contact limited to legal channels only. She paused.
She says she's seen situations like this before and the money doesn't always win. The money never wins over a prepared mother with a good attorney and clean documentation, James said. He turned to look at her. You have all of that now. Sophia looked at him across the kitchen.
She looked at him the way she had looked at him on the porch that first iced night. The rain. Uh, except this time she was not exhausted or desperate or asking for anything. She was just looking at him with those dark clear eyes that had always seen more of him than he'd comfortable with. "Why are you doing this?"
She asked. Again, the same question she had asked on the first night, but differently now. Not desperate, not grateful, just genuine, like she actually needed to understand the answer. James looked at her. He had given her the careful answer last time.