“You always were tougher than Nicholas gave you credit for.”
“Nicholas knew exactly how tough I was,” I corrected. “He just never thought I’d need to use it against our own children.”
Just after 2:00 p.m., my phone rang again. Brandon. His voice was clipped and formal.
“We’ll sign the papers,” he said, “but we want something in writing saying you won’t pursue charges.”
“I already offered that yesterday,” I said. “The terms have changed.”
“What do you want?” He sounded defeated, which gave me no pleasure.
“Be at Vincent’s office at 4:00 p.m. Bring Melissa. I’ll lay out my terms then.”
When they arrived, I was already seated between Robert and Vincent—a united front of legal firepower. My children looked terrible. Brandon unshaven, his expensive shirt wrinkled. Melissa with smeared makeup and hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail. Neither could meet my eyes.
