Season's Greetings : Christmas Box Set

“I don’t understand.” Their mother glances from me to Warren.

“I’m sorry that we’re meeting under these circumstances, Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson, but I love your daughter and her baby. I want nothing but the best for them, and Preston is anything but that. I have proof here of why. If you’d allow me ten minutes of your time, I’ll show you.”

Her father frowns.

“Dad, I trust him,” Warren says.

“You knew about this the entire time? Her and this man?”

“His name is James Bailey, and yes. He’s been here helping her through her pregnancy while Preston jet sets in California and causes her unnecessary stress.”

“He just wants his family together,” his mother whispers.

“No, he wants to control Faye,” I answer.

Her father eyes me distrustfully. “Those are powerful accusations.”

“Just sit down and let him present his case,” Warren says.

“Better be worth it.” Her father sinks down onto the worn, beige couch, and his mother follows suit. My hands tremble slightly as I place the DVD into the system, and Warren cues the TV up.

“This won’t be easy to watch.” I turn away as the surveillance begins to play.

Preston steps into her personal space and raises his voice, and her mother gasps. He grabs her wrist, jerking her around, and her father swears. “I should go get my pistol. That boy is crazy, putting his hands on my daughter.” The words are music to my ears because it means I have an ally.

“Thank you for stepping in. I can’t believe he’d do that.”

“If he’s that bold in public, I can’t imagine what he’s like in private,” her father mumbles. His nostrils flare.

“What he’s trying to do now is take Faye to court for full custody,” I tell them.

“Unless she leaves James.”

“His sticking point is the fact that he makes more money and can afford to have a nanny instead of daycare.”

“I’ll be more

than happy to watch the baby,” her mother says.

“Mrs. Ferguson, I was hoping you’d say that.”

Mr. Ferguson bows his head. “I’m ashamed of the way we acted. We just didn’t want her to go through what we did.”

“You need to tell her that yourself, sir,” I say.

“I will.” He nods.

“Tell us what you want us to do, son. You seem like you’ve already got this figured out, and we owe our daughter.”

I smile and begin to lay everything out.

“DR. BAILEY.”

I glance up from the paperwork on my desk.

“There’s someone out there who insists on seeing you.”

“Is something wrong?”