We’d gone back and forth for days with the attorneys, hammering out an offer Tiffany would accept. The urge to be viciously petty had been overruled by wanting to do what was best for Skye, so we’d offered visitation—supervised of course, and full contact, but that had been the only thing Tiffany hadn’t wanted. Apparently, she’d had her fill of motherhood during those three months, and wanted what she called a clean slate—enough money to start a new life, and zero legal obligation or connection to Skye.
The relief I felt that she’d never be in a position to abandon Skye again was secondary only to the pain of my heart fracturing for my daughter at her own mother’s callous disregard.
“Is that what you want?” I asked, leaning forward on my forearms. The suit felt too constraining, the tie, too tight, the air too stuffy to truly breathe. “To say goodbye to her?”
Tiffany swallowed and looked away, then shook her head.
Pure loathing flowed through my veins for the woman sitting across from me. I was supposed to be happy, right? Fuck her. She didn’t deserve another second of Skye’s time. But I was all too aware that I’d told Tiffany the truth. One day I’d have to answer to Skye about what went down in this room—her mother’s disinterest and my blatant pay-off disguised as a one-time payment of a million dollars in child support.
“I need to know why.” I bit out every single word.
“Why I won’t say goodbye?” Tiffany clarified as she flipped to the second page of the contract.
“Why you left her on the porch that day.” It was the one subject she had shied away from, probably due to the criminal neglect of it all.
Tiffany looked up slowly, then set the papers on the table. “To get your attention. Obviously, it worked.”
I shook my head. “She had a car seat. Clothes. She wasn’t malnourished. You took care of her for three months and then…” I fumbled for words. “I need to know why.”
Her lips pursed. “And you won’t tell her?”
“I already told you that I won’t lie to her.”
She clicked her tongue, then sighed. “Fine. I wasn’t sure you were her father, to be honest. I’d done the math and knew that was a possibility, but that weekend was…” She shrugged. “Anyway, when she was about six weeks old, she scowled at me, and damn if she didn’t look just like you.” She narrowed her eyes. “And don’t you dare judge me for not knowing who her father was.”
I put my hands up. “Zero judgment here since I didn’t know who her mother was.” Everything I judged her for came after conception.
“Right. The whole motherhood thing never clicked with me. I mean, she was fun to dress up, but she cried incessantly, and I just never felt it—that whole connection you’re supposed to have with your kid. She was just…there. I knew what happened to models who were mommy-tracked.” She gestured down her body. “This is not a catalogue body. This is a runway body, and when I was offered a show in Italy, I took a gamble that you were her father, and decided it was my turn to get my dream job and your turn to have your life turned upside down.”
“She’s mine,” I declared just in case she needed to hear it. “We did a paternity test and everything. Just so we’re clear.”
“I figured, or we wouldn’t be sitting here.”
“And why show up now?”
“It was convenient timing. I happened to be in Charleston, and I happen to be leaving tonight.” Another fucking shrug. How could I have ever found this woman attractive? Her cold, calculated features were nothing compared to the warmth of Fiona’s smile, or the way her face softened when she held Skye.
My heartbeat stuttered, but I forced myself to focus.
“Plus, I’d gotten a call from my great-aunt that she’d been notified there was a new member of the family thanks to some genealogy test, but don’t worry, my parents are dead and no one else is going to come looking for Skye. Now are there any other touchy, feely questions, or can we get this over with?”
“Let’s do this.” My jaw flexed, and I took the pen my attorney offered.
Asher brought the notary into the room as Houston finished going over the details of Tiffany signing over her parental rights, and the delivery of the child-support payment.
It took less than a minute for Tiffany to sign away her rights.
She pushed up from the table and retrieved a folder from her bag, passing it across the table. “As promised. Her birth certificate and medical records.”
“Thank you.” I took the folder and opened it. May fourteenth. Skye’s birthday was May fourteenth. A lump formed in my throat. It was such a small fact, but knowing meant everything.