Chapter 3

Leah’s POV

The next morning, I took Ivy home to collect some clothes.

Mark was already waiting for us in the kitchen.

Three cups of coffee sat on the table, as if he expected us to treat the night before as a simple misunderstanding.

I remained standing.

“You owe Ivy an apology,” I said.

Mark looked at her. “I admit I said it badly, but I was trying to make Ava feel secure. Leah, you turned one stupid comment into a family crisis.”

In the past, I would have softened that explanation for him.

He just doesn’t know how to express himself.

Now I understood what that excuse had always done.

It made the person he hurt wait a little longer while asking a little less of him.

“I have three conditions.” I placed my phone on the table, with his message canceling the driving lesson still on the screen. “First, you will never ask Ivy to change what she calls you again. Second, you will acknowledge that those twelve years were real. They don’t get put on hold because Ava is here. Third, you will not cancel plans with Ivy without asking her first.”

“The driving lesson can be rescheduled.”

“Her test is next week. Sunday was her last chance to practice, and every nearby driving school is booked. I’ll have to take time off work to go with her.”

Mark frowned. “So now you’re blaming me because your work is affected too?”

“I’m telling you that your decisions have consequences.”

He turned to Ivy. “If we’re demanding apologies, then you owe Ava one too. You walked out last night and left her sitting at the table.”

Ivy didn’t answer. She set her overnight bag on a chair.

Mark continued, “We need family counseling. We should let someone neutral explain that I haven’t abandoned anyone.”

“Fine,” I said. “But counseling won’t be about teaching Ivy to be more understanding. You’ll be there to answer for what you did.”

“You’ve already decided I’m the villain. What’s left to discuss?”

“Boundaries. What kind of man you are depends on what you do next.”

Before coming over, I had called six short-term rentals from the hotel lobby.

The only furnished apartment available required the first month and a deposit up front.

I paid both from the emergency savings I had built for car repairs, then emailed my supervisor to ask for two personal days.

By noon, Ivy and I had a place to sleep.

I packed only what Ivy and I needed—clothes, toiletries, her laptop, and her study materials.

I left the photographs on the walls and everything in the kitchen untouched.

I wasn’t emptying the house or trying to start a fight over property.

I simply refused to leave Ivy there to endure his next “poorly worded” mistake.

Mark watched us carry the bags toward the front door.

“If you’re staying somewhere else, tell me before you come back,” he said coldly. “Everyone needs space right now.”

Ivy stopped.

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her house key.

The dark blue strap was wrapped around her fingers.

When Mark gave her that key at thirteen, he told her she would never have to knock because she would always be family.

She looked up at him.

“If I need an appointment to come home now,” she asked, “what is this key for?”