Chapter 13
Jocelyn requested one mediated meeting with Declan.
He refused twice.
Then agreed after Emmett’s therapist said adults sometimes needed clarity even when children never attended.
Emmett was not told details.
Maribel was not present.
Just lawyers nearby.
Jocelyn looked different.
Less polished.
Still controlled.
She spoke first.
“I never meant for him to sleep outside all night.”
Declan stared.
“How long was acceptable?”
She looked down.
“A few hours.”
“He was six.”
“I know.”
“No. You know now.”
Silence.
Declan continued.
“Why his room?”
“I needed him to stop treating it like something nobody could touch.”
“It was his bedroom.”
“It was Elise’s shrine.”
There it was.
Declan’s expression changed.
Jocelyn continued.
“The entire house was.”
“No.”
“The tree. The pictures. The trust. Every decision came back to what Elise wanted.”
“She died.”
“I know.”
“My son didn’t.”
Jocelyn flinched.
Declan leaned forward.
“You were jealous of a six-year-old because his existence kept reminding you I had a wife before you.”
“I was jealous of being temporary.”
“You were my wife.”
“In a house I couldn’t own.”
“You knew that before we married.”
“I thought eventually we’d build something ours.”
“We could have.”
“You always said later.”
Declan thought about that.
She was right.
He had delayed conversations.
Assumed Jocelyn would adapt.
Used Emmett’s comfort as an easy answer whenever she wanted change.
That was his marital failure.
Not permission for abuse.
But real.
“I should have taken your frustration seriously.”
Jocelyn’s eyes filled.
Then Declan continued.
“I should have considered moving someday because my wife wanted a home that felt like hers.”
She looked at him.
“But?”
“You lost the right to ask me for that when you decided my son was the obstacle.”
Jocelyn began crying.
She admitted the business debt.
The Alder Lane investment.
The design contract.
The trust questions.
The two draft residency notices.
Everything the documents already proved.
Then she said:
“I thought once we moved, we could fix the rest.”
Declan almost laughed.
“Fix what?”
“Emmett and me.”
“You thought making him homeless would improve your relationship?”
“I didn’t think of it as homeless.”
“He did.”
That ended the argument.
Then Jocelyn asked:
“Does he hate me?”
Declan did not answer for Emmett.
“I don’t know.”
“Does he ask about me?”
Sometimes.
That was the truth.
“He asked why you stopped liking him.”
Jocelyn covered her face.
Declan looked away.
May you like
There was no satisfaction in that pain.
Only waste.
