Chapter 3

3

Silas began appearing systematically. It started with his company―Summit didn’t do interior design in-house, but they had many partners. Everyone from renovation firms to material suppliers worked with Summit.

For three weeks in a row, I lost four clients. The first said “your style doesn’t match,” the second said “budget issues,” the third didn’t say anything at all―they just finished the final payment and blocked me. The fourth was the most direct: “Ms. Miller, Summit has put in a word. We can’t afford to offend them.”

I sat at my computer, staring at the four greyed-out chat boxes. My fingers curled tight, my nails digging into my palms.

Then the bank called. “Ms. Miller, your loan repayment is under pressure. We’ve noticed a significant drop in your income. Per our contract, you may need to repay the remaining principal early.”

I had taken that loan two years ago for Mia’s kindergarten tuition. The monthly payment was twenty-four hundred, and I paid it on time every single month. But the bank doesn’t care if you pay on time. They only care if your income drops.

Silas didn’t need to talk to the bank directly. He just needed to make my clients disappear. Once the income dropped, the bank would handle the rest.

I hung up and sat on the floor of my rented apartment. Mia’s shoes were lined up neatly at the door―a pair of white canvas sneakers, the laces a bit dirty. She had run home from school today to tell me she drew a picture that got five stars. I hadn’t even had the chance to say “let Mom see.”

The final call was from Serena Brooks. I didn’t recognize the number. Her voice was thin, crisp, and professional, like she was talking to a secretary. She asked to meet. I didn’t refuse.

We met at a coffee shop at three in the afternoon. She was already there when I arrived, wearing a camel trench coat, her hair neatly pinned, two rings on her fingers. She didn’t look like the vice president of a real estate firm; she looked like a rich housewife out for afternoon tea.

She went straight to the point. “Ms. Miller, Silas mentioned Mia to me.”

I stayed silent.

She continued, “Silas and I have been married for five years. We haven’t had any children. My doctor says it’s a physical issue, congenital. It’s difficult.” She paused there. Not out of sadness, but like she was discussing a business problem that needed solving.

Then she looked up at me, her expression calm. “I want Mia.”

I looked back at her.

“Ms. Brooks, Mia isn’t an object. She has memories, feelings, and her own life. You ‘wanting’ her and her ‘willingness’ to go with you are two different things.”

Serena sipped her coffee. “Ms. Miller, you’re the one who decides, right? So let’s talk.”

She opened her bag and pulled out a file. A custody transfer agreement, with Silas’s name already printed on it.

The terms were generous: Custody goes to Silas. I get one visit per month, not exceeding four hours. A one-time financial settlement of three million.

I stared at the agreement.

Three million. Enough to buy a small two-bedroom apartment in this city. Enough to put Mia through college. Enough so I never have to take freelance work until 2 AM again.

But Mia would be hers.

One visit a month. Four hours at a time.

Seeing my silence, Serena added, “Ms. Miller, this isn’t a negotiation. You should realize your current career situation won’t hold up in court.”

She stood up, leaving the agreement on the table. “Think about it. Give me an answer within a week.”

She walked away. The sound of her heels on the marble floor was crisp, certain.

I sat there, staring at the paper.