Chapter 9 - The View from Society Hill
Two months later. January 2027.
The winter sun filtered through the tall, arched windows of a beautiful three-story brick townhome in the historic district of Society Hill.
The living room was quiet, warm, and smelled faintly of fresh pine and beeswax polish. A fire crackled gently in the brick fireplace, throwing soft orange light across the polished oak floorboards and the deep navy velvet sofas I had selected three weeks ago.
Clara, now nearly eleven weeks old, sat in an automated swing near the hearth, her large blue eyes tracking the gentle movement of a soft felt mobile hanging above her head. She weighed twelve pounds now, her cheeks plump and healthy, her dark hair curling soft and fine against her brow.
Vanessa sat across from me at the low marble coffee table, reviewing a fresh stack of legal correspondence.
"Jason’s attorney sent another settlement proposal this morning," Vanessa said, sliding a document across the table. "They’ve dropped the demand for a share of the Hillcrest sale proceeds entirely."
I took a sip of my warm tea. "What are they asking for now?"
"They’re begging for a waiver of the fourteen-thousand-dollar credit card judgment," Vanessa replied, pointing a finger at paragraph four. "Jason was formally let go from MedTech Solutions three weeks ago following their internal audit. He’s currently working as an independent contractor for a car rental agency near the airport, earning roughly thirty-two thousand a year. His attorney claims he’s facing personal bankruptcy if the judgment stands."
"And Evelyn?" I asked softly, looking out the window at the snow dusting the cobblestone street.
"Evelyn had to surrender her apartment lease in West Chester," Vanessa said, a faint, cold smile touching her lips. "She’s currently living with Sarah in a two-bedroom basement unit near the train tracks. Sarah took a job as a junior teller at a credit union to cover their rent."
I set my tea cup back down on its saucer with a quiet clink.
"Tell his attorney no," I said smoothly.
Vanessa looked up, her eyebrows raised slightly. "No waiver?"
"No waiver," I repeated, my voice calm, steady, and entirely devoid of malice. "The judgment stands. He can pay it through a structured monthly plan managed by the court system over the next seven years. Five hundred dollars a month. Exactly the amount he used to spend on his monthly golf club dues while I paid our property taxes."
"And the visitation schedule for Clara?" Vanessa asked, turning to the custody agreement draft.
"Supervised visits," I said, looking over at my sleeping daughter. "Two hours every second Saturday, at the Family Court Visitation Center downtown. If he completes a six-month court-approved parental responsibility course, we can re-evaluate supervised day visits at a public park."
"He complained to the mediator that the visitation center feels like a prison," Vanessa noted.
May you like
"The visitation center has a warm waiting room, proper heating, and working door locks," I said, picking up my tea cup once more. "It’s significantly better than the porch he left his three-day-old daughter on."
Vanessa nodded, writing a crisp note across the margin of the legal pad. "I’ll have the final decree drafted for the judge’s signature by Friday."
