"Yeah?"
"Tomorrow, when she's in there. Will you stay? The whole time?"
"The whole time," Michael said. "I'm not going anywhere. That's the rule now."
Ethan nodded, and his eyes closed, and the hair tie stayed on his wrist like a promise.
Michael sat in the armchair long after the book had fallen shut, listening to two kids breathe, thinking about a consent form he couldn't sign and a woman who had signed her own with a shaking hand. Tuesday, seven in the morning. He had faced judges, juries, hostile witnesses. He had never been this scared.
He thought about the summer, the lake, her laugh, and eight years of mornings he had missed.
He checked his list. He added: "7. Be there at six fifteen."
Then he turned off the light and didn't sleep.
Chapter 12: Surgery Day
They got to St. Catherine's at six fifteen, because a deal was a deal.
The surgical waiting room was a beige box with bad art and a coffee machine that hummed like it was judging everyone. Michael signed in at the desk, and a nurse took Claire's overnight bag, and then Claire was gone through the double doors in a wheelchair, giving the kids a thumbs-up over her shoulder like she was off to something fun.
"She's scared," Ethan said quietly, watching the doors swing shut.
"She's allowed to be," Michael said. "So are you."
Lily had brought the planets book and Spike the stegosaurus, for morale. She arranged them on the chair beside her like a small council.
Karen arrived at seven thirty with real coffee and a bag of bagels. She took one look at Michael's face and handed him the largest cup.
"You look terrible," she said.
"Thank you. Very helpful."
"I'm here for truth, not comfort." She sat down and nodded at the kids. "Hey, team. How are we holding up?"
"Okay," Ethan said.
"I'm bored," Lily announced. "Being brave is boring."
"Brave is always boring," Karen said. "That's the secret adults don't tell you. It's just sitting still while you're scared."
Ethan nodded slowly, like he was filing that away with everything else. Lily had already moved on to reorganizing the magazines by color.
Michael's phone buzzed. Rachel: "I'm downstairs with Lily's overnight bag. Can I come up?"
He stared at the message. Then typed: "Yes. Waiting room, second floor."
Rachel arrived ten minutes later, overnight bag over her shoulder, looking around the beige room like she wasn't sure of the protocol. Lily launched herself at her.
"Mom! You're here!"
"Of course I'm here, baby." Rachel hugged her tight, then looked at Ethan, who had stood up politely. "You must be Ethan. I'm Rachel."
"Hi," Ethan said. "Thank you for the bag. For Lily's bag. I mean."
Rachel's expression softened. "Lily talks about you nonstop. She says you're good at planets."
"He knows all of them," Lily said proudly. "Even the dwarf ones."
Rachel smiled at Ethan. "Maybe you can teach me sometime. I never got past Jupiter."
Rachel set the bag down and turned to Michael. "How is she? Claire?"
"In surgery now. Okafor says three to four hours."
Rachel nodded. She hesitated, then said, quietly enough that only Michael heard: "For what it's worth, I'm glad she has you in that room. However this started, she's lucky."
"Thank you," Michael said, surprised.
"I mean it." She glanced at the kids, who were showing Karen the stegosaurus. "Howard's letter. I want you to know I didn't ask for that. He sent it on his own. I've told him to stand down."
Michael stared. "You told your lawyer to stand down?"
"I told my lawyer that my daughter is happy, her father is a good man, and if he files anything I'll find new counsel." She smiled thinly. "He's rethinking his approach."
"Rachel—"
"Don't make it a thing." She squeezed his arm. "Call me when she's out."
She hugged Lily again, ruffled Ethan's hair (he stood very still for it, then smiled), and left. Lily watched her go, then climbed into Michael's lap.
"Mom likes Ethan," she announced.
"Mom likes everyone," Michael said. "It's her best and most annoying quality."
The hours crawled. Karen did a crossword. Lily read Jupiter facts aloud until Karen begged for mercy. Ethan was quiet, the blue hair tie on his wrist, turning Spike over and over in his hands.
At eleven, Michael's phone rang: Briggs. He stepped into the corridor.
"The Morrison appeal—" Briggs started.
"Keller has it."
"I know. She filed the brief this morning. It's good." A pause. "How's the boy's mother?"
Michael blinked. "In surgery. Now."
"Then why are you answering your phone?" Briggs said gruffly. "Go sit with your kids, Rourke."
He hung up smiling.
At twelve forty, the double doors opened, and Dr. Okafor came out still in his scrubs, mask pulled down. Michael stood up so fast the coffee cup tipped.