His jaw ticked. “Which you said was sufficient for the duration of the marriage.”
“It was,” I said softly. “For the duration of the marriage.”
We both fell quiet.
This was supposed to be it. The park, the coffee, the safe man who made reliable choices. Our daughter playing in the sunshine. Her world whole. Clean. Simple.
But it wasn’t simple anymore.
Because I was in love with someone who would ruin everything if I let him too close. And I already had.
I glanced down at my cup, fingers tightening around it.
Julian sighed. “Okay. So nothing has changed.”
“It has. It was sufficient before,” I said. “When we had political cover. When the risks were theoretical.”
“And now?”
“They’re not.”
Julian turned to look at me fully, his tone flat. “Is there a reason you’re invoking contingency language over coffee in a public park?”
“There’s always a reason,” I said. “You just haven’t asked the right question yet.”
He studied me. The look he used to give opposing counsel—measured, dispassionate, a few beats ahead. It scared the hell out of me, at the same time that it made me feel a bit more secure. At least Rosie would be safe…from her father,damn it.
“You want me to adopt her.”
“I want to start the paperwork before we file anything. The optics are cleaner that way. No change of household. No abrupt custody shifts. We manage the narrative.”
His silence told me he’d already leapt three moves ahead.
“You're anticipating an external action?” he asked. “Or are you initiating one?”
“I’m anticipating exposure,” I said. “And if anything happens—legally, physically, politically—I want it airtight. Rosie stays with you. No questions. No family court motions. No sudden claims of biological interest.”
That landed. Julian’s posture shifted.
“Does the biological father know?” he asked, voice low.
I stared out at the playground. Picked a point on the horizon and latched onto it so I wouldn’t have to meet his gaze. “Yes.”
“Does he intend to assert?”
“No.”
“That doesn’t mean he won’t.”
“He has good reason not to.”
I didn’t go any further than that—didn’t mention that her biological father didn’t give a fuck about the law, that there was every chance family court wouldn’t be the solution when nothing would stop him but a bullet in the head.
“Will you tell me who he is?” Julian asked after a minute.
I shook my head. “Trust me. It’s better if you don’t know.”
He seemed to think about that for a few seconds. I wondered if he was going to push, but all he did was shrug his shoulders. I knew what he was thinking:She’ll tell me when she absolutely has to.“Well, what you just said isn’t the same as he won’t.”
