I needed to not be in a room with a man who loved me so poorly that his mother almost succeeded in making me look dangerous to my own child.
Andrés stood too.
“Mariela, please.”
“No.”
“I’ll do anything.”
“You already did too little.”
He broke again.
This time, I did not soften.
“I’m filing for a protective order,” I said.
His face went pale.
“Against my mother?”
“Against Diane. And depending on what Rachel decides, maybe against you too.”
He looked as if I had slapped him.
“Mariela…”
“I am not punishing you. I am protecting Emma. That is the difference your mother never understood.”
Rachel stepped in gently.
“For now, we’re recommending supervised contact between Andrés and Emma until the safety assessment is complete.”
Andrés looked at me.
I could see the panic rising.
The fear.
The realization that he had lost automatic access to his child.
For three weeks, he had told me to be patient.
Now the law was telling him to wait.
And the difference tasted bitter.
Good.
I was tired of being the only one swallowing bitterness.
Emma came home two days later.
Not to the apartment.
