Chapter 47
Chapter 47:
Isolde looked at him with profound pity. “You still don’t get it. I don’t want you to do anything for me, Grayson. I just want to be away from you p>
“Is it the money?” Grayson pointed at the pile. “You have nothing! How will you live p>
“I have myself,” Isolde said. “And I have Effie. That’s enough p>
She pointed at the pink diamond. “Give that to Belle. It suits her. It’s flashy and hard p>
𝖴𝗽𝖽𝘢tеs 𝘦ve𝗋𝗒 𝗐e𝗲𝗄 о𝘯 ѕ.со𝗆
She turned to leave.
“If you walk out that door,” Grayson shouted, his voice cracking, “I will destroy you! I will drag this divorce out for ten years! I will bleed you dry in legal fees p>
Isolde stopped. She looked back over her shoulder.
“Do your worst, Grayson,” she said softly. “You can’t take anything from someone who has already lost everything that mattered p>
She walked out.
The door clicked shut.
Grayson stood in the silence. He looked at the pile of fobs. He looked at the rings.
He let out a roar of frustration and swept his arm across the table.
The glass, the flowers, the diamonds—everything crashed to the floor in a shattered heap.
He sank into the chair, burying his face in his hands.
He picked up his phone and dialed his lawyer.
“Stop the settlement talks,” Grayson rasped. “Contest everything. Custody, assets, the dog. I don’t care. Make her life a living hell p>
If he couldn’t have her love, he would have her hate. At least then, she would still be thinking about him.
The apartment was dark when Isolde returned. She tiptoed into the bedroom.
Effie was thrashing in her sleep.
“No… Daddy, no…” Effie whimpered. “Don’t push… don’t push p>
Isolde froze. Her blood turned to ice.
She rushed to the bed and sat down, stroking Effie’s damp forehead. “Shh, baby. Mommy’s here. You’re safe p>
Effie curled into a ball, clutching her blanket. “He likes Kaiden… he doesn’t like me p>
Isolde looked at the bedside table. There was a drawing Effie had made earlier.
It was a picture of a house. Inside, two stick figures held hands—Isolde and Effie. They were smiling.
In the corner of the page, far away from the house, was a black scribble. A chaotic, angry knot of dark crayon.
Underneath it, in shaky letters, Effie had written: DADDY.
Isolde picked up the paper. Her hands shook.
She had known leaving wouldn’t be enough, that the wounds wouldn’t heal overnight. But the damage was deeper, more insidious than she had imagined. Grayson wasn’t a father to Effie; he was a monster in the corner of the page. He was the man who pushed her away to save the bully.
Tears pricked Isolde’s eyes. She wiped them away furiously.
Crying wouldn’t help. Effie didn’t need a sad mother. She needed a warrior.
Effie woke up with a gasp. She saw Isolde and threw her arms around her neck.
“Mommy, don’t leave me p>
“Never,” Isolde vowed, squeezing her tight. “I am never leaving you. And nobody is ever going to push you around again p>
The next morning, Isolde took Effie to a child psychologist recommended by Harper.