Chapter 45
Ace
The next few weeks passed in a blur. It was strange—how life could shift so much, how you could wake up in the same house, drink coffee from the same chipped mug, yet everything around you had changed. Sierra and I hardly spoke unless it was about Karla. We tiptoed around each other, both knowing the inevitable was drawing closer, neither brave enough to say it aloud.
But that Wednesday morning, fate no longer waited.
The courthouse was colder than I expected, with that sterile, hollow echo that only government buildings have. Sierra sat across from me in a pale blue dress, her fingers nervously twisting the gold bracelet on her wrist. I remembered giving her that bracelet years ago, before everything fell apart—before our fathers pulled us back into a life neither of us wanted.
Our lawyers were speaking quietly, their pens tapping against the polished wood table. Sierra cleared her throat, her eyes flicking to me.
“Ace,” she whispered. “Are you sure?”
I met her eyes. God, we had been through so much. I saw the exhaustion in her face, the tired acceptance. “Yeah,” I murmured, my throat tight. “I’m sure.”
For a moment, she smiled. A sad, trembling thing. “Okay.”
When the papers slid in front of us, I gripped the pen so hard my knuckles went white. My hand hovered, just a second longer. Sierra reached over and squeezed my wrist gently.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “We’ll be okay.”
I swallowed hard, nodded, and signed.
The judge gave us a quiet, almost kind smile as she outlined the co-parenting plan. Sierra would have primary custody; I’d have weekends, holidays, and a flexible arrangement for vacations. We both agreed, because in the end, it wasn’t about us—it was about Karla.
Walking out of that courthouse, I felt… hollow. Like I’d just handed in the final chapter of a story I never wanted to write.
That afternoon, I packed my things. The house, once echoing with laughter and Karla’s tiny footsteps, was eerily silent. My hands brushed over old memories—a framed picture of Karla’s third birthday, a card she’d made with stick figures that looked nothing like us but were precious all the same. I put it carefully in my bag.
When the car pulled up, Sierra came to the door holding Karla on her hip. Our daughter clung to her, her big brown eyes wide and confused.
“Daddy, why are you leaving?” Karla asked, her voice small, her little fingers twisting in Sierra’s hair.
I crouched down, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “Hey, peanut,” I whispered, smoothing her curls back. “Daddy’s not leaving you, okay? I’m just… living in a different house now. But you’ll come visit me all the time, and we’ll still have our ice cream Fridays. And I’ll come see your ballet recitals, I promise.”
Her lip wobbled. “But why can’t you stay?”
I felt a sharp pain in my chest, like someone was twisting a knife. I looked at Sierra helplessly. She knelt beside me, kissing Karla’s cheek. “Daddy and I both love you so much, baby. We just… we’re better as friends. But we’ll always be here for you, okay?”
Karla sniffled, burying her face in Sierra’s neck. I hugged them both, kissing the top of Karla’s head. “You’re my brave girl,” I whispered. “I love you to the moon and back.”
As I walked to the car, my hands trembled. I didn’t look back until I heard Karla’s tiny voice calling, “Daddy, wait!” She wriggled out of Sierra’s arms and ran to me, her arms flung wide.
I knelt and caught her, holding her so tight I thought I might break. She kissed my cheek. “Don’t forget ice cream Friday.”
I laughed wetly, my throat tight. “Never.”
When I finally pulled away, Sierra mouthed, thank you. I nodded, climbing into the car, heart in shreds.
.
The next morning, still unpacking in Montecito, I woke before sunrise. Boxes were everywhere, but I didn’t care. My mind was consumed with one thing.
Brittany.
I hadn’t heard her voice in years. Hadn’t seen her face. God, did she hate me? Had she moved on? Did she think of me at all?
I couldn’t take it anymore.
