Chapter 290
The rage drained out of her, leaving behind a cold, absolute clarity.
She reached into her large canvas tote bag and pulled out a thick manila envelope — heavy, carried with her since she left the bank. She looked Grayson dead in the eye and threw it directly at his chest.
It struck him hard. The clasp broke. Dozens of pages of dense legal paper slid out, cascading down his expensive suit jacket and scattering across the linoleum floor.
“I’m done,” Isolde said, her voice emptied of all emotion. “I am completely done with you, your whore, and your willful blindness.”
Grayson caught a few of the falling pages and looked down at the bold black text at the top of the document.
PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.
“What is this?” Grayson asked, his voice suddenly breathless.
𝗜𝗻s𝗍𝗮ո𝗍 𝘢𝘤𝗰е𝘴𝘴 o𝗻 𝗀а𝘭nov𝗲𝗹𝘴.𝖼om
“Divorce,” Isolde said. “Full, sole physical and legal custody. And a temporary restraining order against her.” She pointed at Belle without looking at her.
“You can’t do this,” Grayson said, his anger returning to mask the panic beneath it. “You have no grounds for sole custody. No judge will grant that.”
“I have a broken child in the next room,” Isolde said, stepping backward toward the double doors. “And I have a timestamped photo of gross negligence. I have medical records. I have everything.”
She stopped at the doors.
“See you in court on Monday, Mr. Lancaster.”
A nurse in blue scrubs pushed through from the back hallway. “Family of Effie Lancaster?”
Isolde rushed past Grayson, shoving him aside with her shoulder. “I’m her mother. I’m here.”
She followed the nurse down the hall, walked into Effie’s room, and pulled the heavy wooden door shut behind her. The sound echoed down the corridor like a gunshot.
Grayson stood alone in the middle of the waiting room, holding the divorce papers, his hands trembling.
Belle clung to his arm, studying the pages. A small, triumphant gleam flickered in her teary eyes.
“Gray,” Belle whispered softly. “Does this mean… we can finally be together openly? Without hiding?”
Grayson looked at her. For a split second, a flash of pure, unadulterated irritation crossed his face.
He pulled his arm free of her grasp.
“Not now, Belle,” Grayson snapped.
He turned his back on her and stared at the closed door of his daughter’s room.
The pediatric hospital room was dark, illuminated only by the pale glow of streetlights filtering through the blinds and the rhythmic green pulse of the heart monitor.
Effie was sleeping. Her small left arm was encased in a heavy pink fiberglass cast, resting on a pillow. A white bandage covered a nasty scrape on her forehead. Her face was terrifyingly pale against the hospital sheets.
Isolde sat in the hard plastic chair beside the bed. She hadn’t moved in four hours. She hadn’t slept. She just watched her daughter’s chest rise and fall.
Suddenly, Effie’s breathing hitched.
She began to toss and turn, her head thrashing against the pillow.
“No…” Effie whimpered, eyes still squeezed shut. “No… don’t make me…”
.
.