Chapter 1
I got a call from my daughter Trina's teacher. Trina got hit at school.
I stormed into the school, fuming, ready to give the other parent a piece of my mind.
But when I pushed open the door, I froze.
The guy in the sharp suit, looking all smug and self-important, was my ex-husband, Jordan Walters—my ex from five years ago.
He didn't even know Trina, let alone that she was his own flesh and blood.
I grabbed Trina's hand, shot him a cold smirk, and said, "Go ahead, hit back. Your dad will cover the medical bills."
The room went dead silent.
*****
The coffee on the desk had gone cold.
The glow from the computer screen lit up Rita Moody's face, which showed no emotion.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, so fast they were a blur.
She was revising a project proposal that needed to be finished for a meeting tomorrow.
As the youngest project director at the company, she'd been at it for three years and was already used to this kind of high-pressure work pace.
Five years after the divorce, there were only two things left in her life.
Work, and her daughter, Trina.
Her phone buzzed on the desk.
The screen lit up with Theodora Stephenson's name.
Rita's heart sank.
Theodora was Trina's teacher.
She never called her during work hours unless it was something serious.
Rita answered the call quickly, keeping her voice calm, "Hi, Ms. Stephenson."
"Is that Trina's mom? Please come to the school as soon as you can," Theodora said, sounding anxious and a little flustered.
"Trina got into a fight with another kid at school."
'A fight?' Rita was stunned, barely able to process what she'd just heard.
Her brows knitted together instantly.
Trina was just like her—quiet and reserved, never causing any trouble at school.
'How could Trina end up in a fight?' Rita couldn't wrap her head around it.
"Is she hurt?" Rita asked, her voice tight with worry.
That was all she cared about right now.
"She's got a few scratches on her face, and it's a bit swollen. The other kid didn't hold back at all," Theodora said.
She paused for a moment.
"The kid's parent is already here, and they're being pretty pushy. They keep insisting we're favoring Trina. You should come over; it's better to handle this face to face," Theodora added.
'Pushy?' Rita's face turned cold in an instant.
Her little girl—the one she'd protect with her life—got hit, and that other parent still had the nerve to act tough.
Rita felt rage boiling up inside her.
"I'll be there right away," she said, her voice icy.
Hanging up, she closed her laptop, grabbed her trench coat from the back of the chair, and snatched up her car keys.
One of her team members popped their head over. "Ms. Moody, what about the meeting tonight?"
"Just send the meeting details to my email. I'll handle everything when I get back," Rita said.
She tossed out the words and strode out of the office, her heels clicking briskly as she moved with purpose.
Her expression was frosty.
The cool-headed project director was gone.
In her place was a mother ready to go to war for her child.
As she drove, Theodora's words kept replaying in Rita's mind. 'Scratches, swelling...
'The other kid didn't hold back at all.
'The kid's parent is being pretty pushy...'
Every word felt like a needle, stabbing straight into her heart.
Five years ago, she left that fancy golden cage with nothing but her baby girl, Trina, in her arms—walking out with empty hands and a heart full of grit.
No one but her knew just how much pain she'd swallowed and how many sleepless nights she'd endured over these five years.
She'd gone from a spoiled rich wife who couldn't even twist open a bottle cap to a badass career woman who could take on the world by herself.
Everything she did was for Trina, to make sure her little girl had a safe, happy life.
She could swallow any humiliation at work, even drink until her stomach burned, for the sake of a project if that was what it took.
But there was one thing she would never, ever tolerate—anyone bullying or hurting her daughter.
Trina was her everything, her lifeblood, the one and only line she would never cross.
Her car screeched to a halt at the school gate.
She didn't even bother to park properly—killed the engine, yanked out the keys, and slammed the door shut, all in one fluid motion.
Then, she rushed straight to the teacher's office on the third floor of the school building.
Her heels hammered out a sharp, staccato rhythm on the hallway floor—like war drums, matching the frantic beat of her heart.
Her resolve was set.
No matter who the other parent was, or what kind of connections they had.
Today, she was going to demand justice for her daughter.
The office door was slightly ajar.
Inside, a man's arrogant, impatient voice echoed through the room.
"Theodora, I've already said everything I need to say.
"That little girl started it—she pushed first. My kid was just defending himself, that's all.
"If the school doesn't give me a proper explanation, I'm not letting this go," he threatened.
Rita froze right at the door.
'That voice...
'Wait, I know that voice...' she realized.
It was like a nightmare locked away in the darkest corners of her mind.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself and push back the sense of dread rising inside.
With determination, she pushed the office door open.
Inside the office, a few people were standing.
Theodora looked troubled.
Trina, her face streaked with tears and her eyes red, was cowering behind Theodora.
And... a man and a woman stood at the window, facing away from the door.
The man stood tall, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit.
Even from behind, that suffocating, high-powered vibe she knew all too well slammed into her.
The woman next to him had flawless makeup, a brand-new Hermès bag on her arm, and shot Trina a snobby sideways glance.
Rita's eyes were fixated on the man's back.
Her heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand—she could barely breathe.
Relief washed over Theodora when she saw Rita walk in.
"Ms. Moody, you're here!" she exclaimed.
At the sound of Theodora's voice, the man slowly turned around.
A handsome yet emotionless face met Rita's eyes.
Jordan Walters.
Five years had passed.
His face hadn't changed much—just a little sharper, a little more hardened than before.
Time had been kind to him.
But for her, those years had carved out every line of struggle and hardship.
When Jordan laid eyes on Rita, he was stunned for a split second—impressed, even—but that quickly faded into cold detachment.
He clearly didn't recognize her.
'Of course he didn't,' Rita thought.
Five years ago, Rita had waist-length hair and wore custom-made dresses. She was the famous trophy wife everyone knew in their circle.
Now, she rocked a sleek bob and a crisp business suit. Her eyes showed the grit she'd earned from years of climbing the corporate ladder.
They were from two completely different worlds now.
The woman next to Jordan—the boy's mom—looked Rita up and down.
She shot Rita a condescending look, like she was sizing up the competition.
"So, you're her mom?" the woman said.
"Listen, your girl needs to apologize to Mick today. No excuses!"
'Mick?' Rita thought, her brows furrowing in confusion.
Her eyes locked onto the little boy smirking behind the woman, looking way too proud of himself.
There was not a single scratch on his face.
She checked the angry red marks on Trina's cheeks.
Rita's rage flared up even more.
She didn't even bother with the woman.
Rita walked straight over to Trina, crouched down, and gently held her little girl's face in her hands.
"Trina, sweetheart, tell Mommy what happened," Rita asked, her voice so soft it could melt ice.
Seeing her mom, Trina finally relaxed, and her tears spilled down her cheeks in a rush.
"Mom, he took my drawing first...
"I told him to give it back, but he pushed me and ripped the drawing I made of you..." Trina sniffled, then pulled out a crayon drawing, ripped in two, from her pocket.
The drawing showed a smiling woman—Rita herself.
Rita felt a sharp pain in her heart, like she'd been stabbed.
She'd helped Trina draw it just last night.
Jordan watched everything unfold with a cold, almost impatient look, his brows drawn together.
He finally spoke, impatience clear in his voice, "It's just a drawing. No big deal if it's torn.
"Whatever, I'll pay for it.
"Kids fight all the time. Did we really need to make such a big deal out of this? Seriously, this is just wasting everyone's time," he scoffed.
His tone was exactly the same as it had been five years ago.
Condescending, like everything was just his right.
He figured throwing money at it would solve everything.
Rita slowly stood up, shielding Trina behind her.
She finally looked up, meeting Jordan's gaze head-on.
All the hurt, resentment, and anger she'd carried for five years—right now, it all froze over in her eyes.
She didn't care how he'd been these past five years.
And she had no intention of telling him that the little girl standing right in front of him was his own flesh and blood—the daughter he'd never even met.
He didn't deserve to know.
He didn't even realize his own child was right in front of him.
Rita grabbed Trina's hand, making sure everyone in the room saw it.
She stared down the smug little boy, not breaking eye contact for a second.
A razor-sharp, icy smile curled on her lips—daring and merciless.
"Trina," Rita said, her voice cold as steel. "Hit him back."
The room went dead silent.
Theodora just stared, totally speechless.
The arrogant woman was caught off guard, frozen in place.
For the first time, Jordan's brows shot up in a deep frown—because of this unfamiliar woman.
He couldn't believe what he'd just heard.
Trina looked up at her mom, puzzled and unsure.
Rita leaned in, meeting Trina's eyes, her words slow and unmistakably clear.
"Mommy's right here. Don't be afraid.
"However he hit you, you hit him back the same way," she said, her tone firm and unyielding.
She straightened, her gaze like an ice-forged blade, aimed directly at Jordan.
"Let your real dad foot the bill," Rita said, her voice cold and sharp.
Jordan's cold, distant look instantly froze.
His eyes narrowed as he locked his eyes on Rita, not blinking.
In just a few seconds, his face went from stunned to shocked, then turned ashen.
'Real dad?' Jordan was floored.
Those words landed like a bomb going off in his ears.
The air in the office was frozen solid.
Everyone's eyes locked on Rita and Jordan.
Theodora opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came out.
The woman who'd been so arrogant just moments ago now looked like she'd been choked speechless, her face frozen in utter disbelief.
She looked back and forth between Rita and the ghostly pale Jordan.
Clearly, she hadn't even begun to process the bombshell that had just dropped.
Jordan's gaze was glued to Rita, unable to tear himself away.
His mind went completely blank.
Five years was enough to change so much.
He'd cycled through several girlfriends, and his business empire had grown twice as big.
He barely remembered he even had an ex-wife.
He'd completely forgotten that when they split, she was still expecting his baby.
He never imagined he'd run into his own flesh and blood like this, under these circumstances.
And on their first meeting after all these years, he was actually scolding his own daughter.
Panic and confusion hit him hard, making his heart race.
Rita didn't even bother to look at his reaction.
She just bent down, giving Trina another encouraging look.
"Go on," Rita said, firm and calm.
Trina was just a kid, and between her mom's words and the tense vibe in the room, she was still nervous and unsure.
The little boy, Mick Walters, who was hiding behind his mom, was the first to react.
With Jordan backing him up, Mick pulled a face at Trina, acting all cocky.
"You try it! I'll tell my dad to hit you," Mick sneered.
That line was what finally made Rita snap.
She let go of Trina's hand and strode forward.
Before anyone could react, a sharp, crisp slap rang out in the room.
It was loud and clean.
Rita gave Mick a slap across the face.
She didn't use much force, but it was enough to leave a bright red mark on his baby-soft skin.
Mick was stunned for a couple of seconds, then let out a loud wail.
"You... you actually hit my son!" Sheila Vasquez, Mick's mom, shrieked and charged at Rita, claws out.
Jordan instinctively reached out and stopped her.
But his gaze stayed glued to Rita, his eyes swirling with conflicting emotions.
Rita shook out her hand, which was still tingling from the slap.
She didn't even spare a glance at the crying kid—her gaze was locked on Jordan, cold and unyielding.
"Did you see that clearly?" Rita said, her voice icy.
"The injuries on my daughter's face are much worse than this.
"That slap was for my daughter.
"Now, let's settle the matter of compensation."
Her words were measured, but each one hit like a cold, hard stone, striking everyone in the room.
Theodora finally found her voice.
"Ms. Moody, please—calm down. You can't just get physical..." she pleaded, flustered.
"Ms. Stephenson." Rita cut her off, her voice sharp and commanding.
"My kid got hurt by another student right here in your school.
"And as her teacher, you didn't protect her when it mattered.
"And as the school, you didn't even make the bully or his parents own up to what they did. Instead, you let my daughter keep taking the heat and getting humiliated right here.
"Now you expect me to just calm down?"
Rita took a step forward, fixing Theodora with a hard stare.
"If my daughter were the one lying in the hospital right now, would you still be telling me to keep quiet just to protect the school's image?"
Theodora was totally speechless, her face going from red to pale in seconds.
Rita ignored her and turned to Jordan.
"Mr. Walters, five years gone, and your ego's only gotten bigger.
"You don't even know your own daughter when she's standing right there. Some memory you've got."
Jordan's lips moved, his Adam's apple bobbing, but he couldn't get a word out.
"You're covering my daughter's medical bills, her pain and suffering, and the drawing your kid tore up. All of it," Rita said.
She pulled Trina to her side, pointing straight at the angry scratches on her little girl's face.
"I care about my daughter's face more than anything. I'm not here to waste time.
"Either we call the police right now and let them deal with it.
"Or we handle it privately. Bring your son over and apologize to my daughter—right now.
"And then, you compensate us," Rita finished, her tone still cold as ice.
Sheila was shaking with rage. "Dream on! Why should we apologize? Your kid started it—she pushed first!"
"Is that so?" Rita gave a cold chuckle and turned to Theodora.
"Ms. Stephenson, there are hallway cameras, right?
"I want to see the footage—right now.
"Let's see who really started it, and who's lying."
Her words landed like a hammer, leaving no room for argument.
Jordan stiffened, just a fraction, barely noticeable.
He glanced at Mick, who was still bawling his eyes out, then back at Rita—her gaze icy, her whole presence radiating power.
A feeling of defeat hit him hard—something he'd never experienced before.
For the first time, he realized it.
The woman standing before him was no longer the one who used to rely on him for everything, always looking up to him.
She'd become a rose with thorns.
Beautiful, but deadly.
He drew in a deep breath, steeling himself for what came next.
He turned to Sheila, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Mick needs to apologize."
Sheila was stunned, like she'd just been slapped.
"Jordan? You're telling my son to apologize to her?" she sputtered, disbelief written all over her face.
"Apologize!" Jordan barked, his voice sharp and barely holding back his anger.
Sheila shrank back from his intensity. Even though she was resentful, she dragged Mick over.
"Hurry up, apologize to that girl," Sheila gritted out, her voice strained.
Mick, still sniffling and crying, muttered a half-hearted apology, clearly unwilling. "Sorry..."
Rita's face stayed completely expressionless.
"My daughter's name is Trina, not 'that girl,'" she said, her voice icy.
"Look her in the eye and say it louder. I didn't hear you."
Jordan's fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening.
With Rita's icy gaze locked on him, Mick finally lifted his head, looked straight at Trina, and forced out a loud, reluctant apology. "Trina, I'm sorry."
Rita finally nodded, satisfied.
She took Trina's hand and headed for the door.
She wanted out of this place—she wasn't staying a second longer.
"Wait," Jordan finally spoke, his voice hoarse.
He stepped forward, trying to stop her.
"We... need to talk," he said.
Rita didn't even slow down. She just shot him a cold glare over her shoulder.
"We have nothing to discuss.
"As for compensation, my lawyer will contact you," she added, icy and unyielding.
With that, she took Trina's hand and strode out of the office without a backward glance, leaving behind a mess and a man left reeling.
Just as they stepped out of the school building, Jordan's phone started ringing.
Rita didn't look back, but she could feel his burning gaze on her back.
She quickened her pace.
When they reached the car, she carefully buckled Trina into her car seat.
Just as she closed the door, someone grabbed her wrist from behind—hard.
It was Jordan, who had chased after her.
His eyes were bloodshot, and he was practically shaking with emotion.
"Rita, what do you want?!" Jordan snapped, his voice cracking with desperation.
Right then, his phone started blowing up again, ringing nonstop.
Jordan glanced at the caller ID, his face darkening even more.
The call was from his wife, Laurel Norris.
He hung up, but Laurel immediately called again, persistent as ever.
Jordan answered the phone, barely holding back his irritation.
"I'm busy!" he snapped.
Laurel's shrill, aggrieved voice came through the phone, so loud that Rita could hear every word.
"Jordan! You're with that Sheila Vasquez woman again, aren't you? You promised you'd come to my prenatal checkup today! Where the hell are you?"
'Prenatal checkup?' Rita wondered.
The mocking curve lingered on her lips as she yanked her hand away from Jordan, shooting him a look full of contempt and disgust.
That look was like a thorn, piercing straight into Jordan's heart.
His temples pounded, each beat sharper than the last.
Laurel's relentless questioning on the other end was like an awl, drilling straight into his skull and making his head feel like it might split open.
"Jordan! Say something. Are you with that homewrecker again?
"Let me remind you, the baby I'm carrying is the Walters family's eldest grandson. If you dare cross me..."
Jordan cut her off abruptly, slamming the call shut.
The world fell silent.
But his mind was more tangled than ever.
He stared at Rita, right in front of him.
The sneer on her face was like a scorching needle, stabbing deep into his heart.
It was a look he'd never gotten from her before.
Her eyes brimmed with contempt, disgust, and even... pity.
It was like she was watching some pathetic clown put on a show.
That gaze sent a wave of inexplicable panic and frustration through him.
Five years ago, whenever Rita looked at him, her eyes were always full of worship and longing.
'When did everything start to fall apart?' Jordan thought, feeling a wave of confusion crash over him.
"Rita..." he called out.
He wanted to reach out, to grab her, to demand answers, to make her explain everything.
He wanted to know how she'd survived these past five years.
He wanted to know why she'd kept their child a secret from him.
But Rita just coldly flung his hand off, her movements icy and unfeeling.
The force in her gesture left no room for argument—it was final.
She turned, yanked open the car door, and slid into the driver's seat.
Her actions held not a shred of hesitation or nostalgia.
The engine roared to life, like a thunderbolt snapping Jordan back to reality.
He instinctively tried to stop her, reaching out before he even realized it.
But her car slipped into the traffic without a hint of hesitation.
All that remained was her cold figure fading away and a cloud of exhaust in the air.
Jordan stood there, frozen in place.
The coldness of her wrist still lingered in his palm.
It was icy, just like her heart right now.
His phone rang again, breaking the silence at the worst possible time.
Laurel, once again.
He answered, his tone icy enough to chill the room, "I'm busy at the office. Just let the driver and nanny go with you for the checkup.
"That's all. Hanging up."
He cut her off, not giving her a single chance to respond.
Behind him, Sheila walked over, holding Mick's hand as he was still sobbing, her steps cautious and careful.
"Jordan, who is that woman, really?" Sheila asked, her voice shaky with hurt and uncertainty.
"Why did she say... that girl is your daughter..."
Her words carried both resentment and doubt, as if she was searching for answers but afraid of what she might find.
Jordan spun around, his glare sharp and furious, like a beast provoked beyond reason.
"Your son threw the first punch, and you still dare to stand here asking questions?" he snapped.
"Didn't I tell you not to stir up trouble for me when you're out?"
His anger finally found an outlet.
Sheila flinched at his outburst, her eyes rimmed with tears.
"I... I didn't know it would turn out like this..." she stammered, her voice shaky.
"Mick said that little girl pushed him first..."
"Shut up!" Jordan cut her off, barking.
He didn't want to hear any more excuses.
His mind was a tangled mess right now.
Rita. Trina. Your dad...
Those names and words kept swirling in his mind, like a curse he couldn't shake.
For the first time, he felt like things were slipping out of his control.
He was the golden boy, untouchable in the business world.
He was used to being in control of everything.
Women's moods, his team's work, the direction of every project—he always pulled the strings.
But today, Rita's sudden appearance had thrown his whole world off balance.
He didn't even know he had a five-year-old daughter.
What a cruel joke.
Frustrated, he tugged at his tie, pulled out his phone, and called his assistant.
"I need you to look into someone for me," he said.
"Rita Moody.
"We got divorced five years ago.
"I want every detail about her life for the past five years. Everything.
"That includes her job, where she lives, who she's been hanging out with, and... everything about that kid.
"Send it to my email in half an hour."
After hanging up, he leaned against the cold metal of his car, lighting a cigarette.
Smoke swirled around him, his gaze clouded and impossible to read.
'Rita, you really think you can escape me?' Jordan thought.
'Five years ago, I forced you out with nothing.
'Five years later, I can drag you right back into my world.'
*****
Meanwhile, the silence inside Rita's car was heavy, almost suffocating.
Rita watched Trina through the rearview mirror, her gaze lingering.
Trina sat in her car seat, her small hands gripping the ripped drawing tightly, her head bowed in silence.
Rita slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road.
She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to hug her daughter.
"Trina, were you scared?" she asked softly.
Trina's body trembled as she buried her face in her mom's arms, finally bursting into tears with a loud cry.
"Mommy... I didn't want to fight..." Trina sobbed, her voice trembling.
"He took my drawing and tore it up...
"He said... he said I don't have a daddy, that I'm just a bastard..."
Trina's broken sobs were like knives, slicing Rita's heart to pieces.
'No daddy. Bastard,' she murmured those words inwardly.
For the past five years, Rita had poured her heart and soul into giving Trina a normal, happy childhood.
She played both mom and dad, doing everything for her little girl.
She thought she could keep Trina safe from all the hurt out there.
But she forgot—no matter how hard she tried, she could never block out all the meanness in the world.
Her eyes brimmed with tears, her vision blurring.
She pulled Trina into a tight embrace, her voice choked and shaky.
"I'm sorry, Trina. It's Mommy's fault," she whispered, her words trembling.
"From now on, I'll try even harder to protect you.
"You're not a bastard. It's just... your daddy went somewhere really far away, and he can't come back right now."
It was the same lie she'd been telling Trina for five years.
Trina sniffled, lifting her tear-streaked face.
"Mommy, why was that man so mean?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"And why did that boy have to say sorry?"
Rita gently wiped away Trina's tears with her fingertips.
Those eyes—so much like Jordan's—stabbed at her heart, making it ache.
'How do I even begin to explain all this?' Rita thought, feeling completely lost.
She stayed quiet for a long time, then finally spoke in a gentle voice, "They apologized because they messed up.
"Trina, remember—we never pick on anyone first. But if someone bullies us, we have to be brave and fight back.
"No matter what, Mommy will always have your back. I'll be your strongest shield."
Trina nodded, half-understanding, but trusting her mom completely.
She unfolded the torn drawing again, her face scrunched up in frustration and sadness.
"But... my picture's all messed up..." Trina whimpered, her voice shaky.
Rita reached over and ruffled her hair, smiling gently.
"Don't worry. We'll go home, and Mommy will help you make an even prettier one, okay?"
"Okay!" Trina chirped, her eyes shining through the tears.
Rita started the car again.
Neon lights streaked past the window, lighting up Rita's strong, determined face.
'Jordan Walters,' Rita thought, her heart hardened, her resolve unshakable.
'Whatever was between us is ancient history.
'You won't ever disturb the peace Trina and I have found.
'I clawed my way out of hell alone for five years.
'Now, you don't scare me one bit.'
*****
When they got home, Rita ran a warm bath for Trina.
The steam filled the bathroom, chasing away the shadows in Trina's heart.
Trina splashed around in the tub with her rubber duck, her face lighting up with her usual smile.
Rita sat on the couch in the living room, but she couldn't relax for a second.
She knew what happened at the school gate today was just the start of something bigger.
With Jordan's personality, he would never back down.
He was definitely going to come after her.
He might even try to fight her for Trina.
The thought alone made Rita's heart twist up in anxiety.
Trina was everything to her.
No one was ever going to take her away from Rita.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed—a new email from her assistant.
[Ms. Moody, I've sent the materials for tomorrow's project meeting to your inbox. Let me know if you need anything else.
[Also, Prime Group asked if you'd like to grab coffee tomorrow afternoon to go over the details for the next phase.]
Rita rubbed her temples and replied: [Received, thanks. The meeting will go ahead as planned.
[Let them know I'll see them at our usual spot at 3 PM tomorrow.]
Work was her lifeline—the anchor that kept her grounded.
It was also her biggest source of confidence when it came to standing up to Jordan.
She opened her laptop, forcing herself into work mode.
But today, all that data and text just blurred together—her mind simply couldn't process any of it.
All she could see in her mind was Jordan's face—shocked, bewildered, and angry.
And that woman hanging on his arm, plus the pregnant wife on the call.
Five years later, his life was still just as "colorful" as ever.
A cold, mocking smile curled across Rita's lips.
Divorce was the smartest move she ever made.
Right as she was thinking, her phone rang again.
It was an unknown number.
Her heart tightened, a sense of dread creeping over her.
She hesitated for a moment, then pressed the answer button.
"Hello?" she said, her voice steady but cautious.
"Rita Moody." It was a voice she never wanted to hear again in her life.
Jordan.
His voice came through the line, rough and tired, but still carrying that suffocating sense of control.
Rita's body went rigid in an instant.
She hadn't expected him to find her number so quickly.
She stayed silent, her fingers gripping the phone so tightly they turned pale.
"Trina... she's my daughter, isn't she?" Jordan's voice trembled, a hint of uncertainty creeping in.
Rita took a deep breath, her tone icy as the coldest winter wind.
"I think you're mistaken, Mr. Walters.
"My daughter's name is Moody. She has nothing to do with you—never has, never will.
"If you keep harassing me, I'll call the police."
With that, she was about to hang up.
"Wait!" Jordan shouted, desperation in his voice.
"Rita, can we talk?
"Just tell me how much you want? What'll it take to see my kid?"
'Here we go again. Money,' Rita thought, her disgust bubbling up.
'Does he really think everything in his world can be bought?
'Even family?'
Rage and disgust hit Rita like a punch to the gut.
"Jordan, listen up.
"I'll say it one more time—Trina is none of your business.
"She's my daughter, and only mine.
"You forced me to sign those divorce papers when I was pregnant and needed you most. That's when you lost the right to call yourself a father.
"Go have your precious kid with your new wife!"
With that, Rita hung up hard and instantly blocked his number.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and tears she couldn't stop spilled over her cheeks.
All the bottled-up pain, bitterness, and heartbreak from the past five years finally burst out.
She thought she was strong enough.
But Jordan's sudden return ripped off the armor she'd worked so hard to build up, leaving her completely exposed.
From the bathroom, she could hear Trina's little voice singing.