Macy's eyes widened. "Problems?"
"Oh, honey," I sighed. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this." I almost whispered, looking down at my hands—as if wrestling with whether to continue. "But I think you're old enough now to understand. Sometimes when couples fight, they use children to send messages. To make the other person feel guilty."
"I don't understand."
"Think about it, sweetheart. These last few months or so, haven't you talked about Felicity trying to do more things with you when your dad had to work? Why do you think she's been doing that? All that special attention, encouraging you to spend more time with her."
I watched confusion cloud her features. Perfect.
"Because she cares about me?"
"Oh, I'm sure she does—in some way. But she also knows that if you're happy there, it makes your father happy." I paused for a moment. "And you know, if your father is happy, maybe he won't leave her."
Seeds of doubt were planted. I could see them root a bit, now I could let Macy's own insecurity water it.
"But...no. Really? No, Mom, she's not like that." Then she whispered, "she's nice to me."
"Of course she is, baby. That's how these things work—it feels good at first. It's only later, when everything falls apart, where the kids are left hurting." I brushed a strand of hair from her face with practiced tenderness. "And you're my baby. Of course I don't want you to be the one left hurting. Because things will fall apart, Macy. They always do."
"Dad wouldn't leave her. Would he?"
"I don't know, sweetheart. Marriage is complicated. What I do know is that, when children get too attached, they suffer."
I let that sink in for a moment, watching her process the implications.
"I can't tell you how to feel—I would never do something like that. I just want you to be careful, okay? Guard your heart a little bit. Don't let yourself be used as a pawn in their game."
"Is that why you didn't want me to make the video for her?"
Smart girl. "Partly, yes. I'm concerned that you're telling her you're sorry for something. And whatever it is, I'm sure you're just taking responsibility for adult problems that aren't your fault. And that's not fair to you."
Macy nodded slowly, and I could see the doubt continuing to take root. Good.
"Now, I want you to get some sleep. And tomorrow, we're going to have a conversation about computer privileges. You were such a good girl tonight—following the rules... And hearing me out. I think maybe you've earned some of those privileges back."
I kissed her forehead, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. My daughter. Mine.
"I love you, Macy. More than anyone else ever could."
"I love you too, Mom."
At the door, I paused. "Oh, and sweetheart? If your father asks about visiting this week, why don't you tell him you'd rather stay home with me. You don't have to tell him you know about their problems. It's just until he and Felicity work things out."
"But Mom—"
"Trust me on this one, okay? It's for the best."
I closed her door softly, leaving her alone with her doubts and thoughts.
By morning, she'd be questioning every kind thing Felicity had ever made. By next week, she'd be pulling away on her own, protecting herself from the inevitable disappointment.
My heels clicked against the hardwood while I walked downstairs, satisfaction felt in every step. Things were working out perfectly—Macy would pull back from Felicity, and any suspicion from Caden, well—that would just create more tension in his precious little marriage.
In the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of Pinot. Brad would be waiting for me upstairs, probably still irritated at me for cutting the evening short. I'd need to smooth that over. Maybe I'd tell him I was worried about Macy's behavior lately, that I needed to nip some of this pre-teen rebellion in the bud before it becomes a bigger issue when she does become a teenager. He'd understand that—Brad appreciated a firm hand with discipline.
I took a sip of wine and pulled out my phone, scrolling through my work emails. Three new pre-approval requests, one contract question, and a reminder about the Henderson Avenue closing on Wednesday. Normal Sunday night business.
I needed to remember to email Lauren about the credit card replacement. She hadn't responded to my last request, which was unusual. Normally she was so efficient about handling Caden's expenses.
The wine warmed my throat as I finished the glass and poured another glass to bring to our room. Reaching into my bag, I grabbed a pill–couldn't work with a headache tomorrow–it's going to be a busy day. At the end of the day, maybe take Macy shopping for school clothes—a little mother-daughter bonding to reinforce tonight's message and ensure her loyalties. It's for her own good, I reminded myself. Even if she hates me for it later.
I climbed the stairs, already planning my approach with Brad. A little wine on my breath, an apology for being distracted, maybe some pointed attention. Men were so predictable.
But as I reached the top of the stairs, I could hear Brad on the phone in our bedroom, his voice muffled but clearly agitated. I paused outside the door, listening.
"—told you, the timeline moved up. We need those permits approved by Friday or the whole deal falls through."
Work call. Perfect. That would put him in a mood, but it also meant he'd be distracted from tonight's dinner drama. I could work with that.
I pushed the door open, giving him an apologetic smile as I mouthed "sorry" and pointed toward the bathroom. I kissed his cheek and left my wine in front of him, my hands still a little unsteady. He nodded curtly, taking the glass for a sip, he remained focused on his conversation.
In the bathroom, I took my time with my cellular rejuvenation routine, letting the familiar ritual calm my thoughts. La Prairie — Platinum Rare. Obscenely expensive, yes—but absolutely worth it. Sleek with a soft scent and clinical, the texture a whisper against my skin. I'd once read about how the formula was designed to restore what age and stress tried to steal. Going through my routine, I also felt shaking ease in my hands.
Good. Let it restore everything.
I dabbed the serum beneath my eyes, smoothing it upward. Felicity could keep her coffee dates and her soft laugh and her stories about books Macy "just had to read." She could keep that garden and her sad little kitchen and her whole pretending-to-be-warm routine.
But she couldn't keep my daughter.
And she wouldn't win.
By the time I emerged from the bathroom, Brad had finished his call and was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his tablet.
"Sorry about tonight," I said, moving to sit beside him. "Macy's been testing boundaries lately, and I thought it was important to address it right away."
He looked up from his screen. "What kind of boundaries?"
"Sneaking around, not following rules when we're out. You know how eleven-year-olds can be." I leaned against his shoulder. "I just don't want it to escalate."
"Makes sense." His voice had softened. "How'd it go?"
"Good, I think. We had a productive conversation about respect and consequences. I think she understands now."
Brad nodded, setting his tablet aside. "That's important."
"Exactly." I kissed his cheek. Climbed astride his lap. A good distraction may be just what's needed. "How was your call? You sounded stressed," I asked, kissing along his neck.
"City's dragging their feet on the Morrison project. But we'll figure it out." He pulled me close. "I'm sorry I was short with you at dinner. I know you have a lot on your hands."
Perfect.