Chapter 7
Deputy cruiser pulled away from curb. Taillights swept across living room wall then gone. House fell quiet again.
Lamp on side table still burned warm. Same lamp from earlier. Same glow on same sofa, same hardwood. Air felt thinner now door locked, deadbolt thrown. I stood in hallway with report number folded in palm, ink already smudged from sweat. Paper shook a little.
Lily hadn't moved from behind my legs until deputy left. Now she pressed shoulder against my thigh, pajama sleeve twisted in fist. Breath came fast, shallow.
"Door locked?" she whispered.
I checked deadbolt again. Turned handle. Pulled.
"Locked. Stayed locked," I said.
She nodded but didn't let go.
Kitchen clock read 9:47. Night felt much later.
I walked her to sofa. Sat. Didn't turn on overhead light. Kept only lamp. Lamp made room smaller, safer somehow. Her knees tucked under light pajamas, hair messed from clutching. She stared at hallway where he'd come running.
That was scene one.
I needed water, needed to breathe. Stood to get kitchen glass and foot caught on something soft near bookshelf.
White envelope on floor. Half under sofa leg.
Not ours. Not there before.
I picked it up. Plain letter envelope, creased down middle as if shoved in jacket pocket. My name handwritten on front — first and last — no address. Inside, folded printout.
Lily watched my hands.
"What that?" she asked.
"Paper he dropped," I said.
I unfolded. County court printout. Top header: FAMILY COURT — NOTICE OF HEARING. Case number, names printed underneath. My name, hers — her mom's maiden name — and his. Ryan Keller. Hearing date circled in blue pen: April 28, 9:00 AM, Dept. 4.
Ten days away.
Second sheet stapled behind: Petition for Establishment of Parental Relationship / Request for Visitation. Filed March 14. File stamp smudged.
My stomach dropped. Reason for timing clicked. He didn't charge down hallway random. He timed visit before hearing. Wanted to show presence in house, scare, or force contact to claim later.
Lamp hummed faint next to me. Paper felt hot in hands.
Lily leaned closer. "Why he run toward us?" she asked. Voice small, careful.
That was question I dreaded.
I folded papers slower, buying seconds. Couldn't give full truth. Couldn't lie enough she'd feel it.
"He angry about family court paper," I said. "He think he should see you. He shouldn't have run. That was wrong."
She frowned, eyes on hallway thermostat as if answer lived there.
"Is he dad?" she asked.
Throat closed. Pause stretched.
"No," I said. "Not dad. Related to mom's family. Court will decide what happens. You safe here with me."
Partial truth. Held line. She searched my face, then nodded once, micro-nod. Didn't forget. Didn't relax either. Grip on my henley sleeve tightened.
That was scene two.
I carried her to kitchen. Needed to move, needed light. Fluorescent over sink buzzed too bright after dim living room. I filled two glasses, handed her one. Hands steadied with task.
She sipped, then set glass down hard.
"Will he come back?" she asked.
I looked at back door, front door, windows. Locks checked, but envelope proved he'd had access somehow, had planned.
"Sheriff told him stay away," I said. "Paper says no contact till hearing. If he comes back, I call right away. Different this time."
She didn't answer. Stared at envelope on counter next to court printout.
I picked up phone from counter. Scrolled to contacts — my lawyer, Mark — and to my mom. Didn't call yet. Too late for Mark's office, but morning would be first thing.
Lily climbed onto kitchen stool, legs dangling, pajama pants riding up. She watched me photograph each page with phone, front and back, flash on. Sent copies to myself, to Mark's email with subject line: DROPPED TONIGHT — HEARING APRIL 28.
My hand hovered over call button for mom. Stopped.
Not tonight. Morning.
I put phone down. Scooped Lily off stool, carried her back to living room. She buried face in my shoulder, breath finally slowing.
We sat on floor this time, backs against sofa, lamp light pooling around us, hallway dark beyond. House empty except us, door locked, lamp warm.
I held court document against knee. Paper creased where he'd folded it. Proof hearing already pending. Proof his charge wasn't random break-in but pressure move before judge saw us.
"Sleep on sofa tonight?" I asked.
She nodded against my chest.
May you like
"Me call lawyer in morning," I said. More to myself than her. "Show him paper. Keep us safe."
Lamp stayed on. I didn't turn it off.
