Hot Mess - Elise Faber Page 0,5
your dad left.”
The air froze in her lungs.
“It was already bad enough that the few days I’d be home, you were trying so fucking hard.” She could imagine his lips curving up into a smirk. “God, it was so fucking pathetic—”
She swallowed the pain, pushed down the hurt.
The good thing—and the only good thing about her marriage, aside from Rylie—was that Shannon had gotten really good at compartmentalizing things.
So, she locked up Brian’s words and focused on what was really important.
“I need you to call off your realtor,” she said firmly. “And I need you and I to take care of getting the house in my name. I need that to happen or I won’t sign the final divorce paperwork, and I will have my attorney go after you for both alimony and child support.”
He scoffed. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” he sneered. “You’ve always thought you were better than everyone.”
Shan’s jaw dropped open because that was about as far from the truth as anyone had ever come up with. Her struggle for her entire life had been trying to find a way to please her father, for him to be proud of her, and then transitioning that same battle over to Brian when they’d begun dating, when they’d eventually married.
Every action had been carefully crafted and thought out, trying not to misstep. Trying to make sure everyone liked her.
“Well,” Brian went on before she could tell him that—not that he’d listen, anyway. He was too far gone detailing how wrong she was about everything. “You can try and go after me, or contest the divorce, but I think you’ll find that because the settlement has been agreed upon by the court—”
“The settlement said that I’m getting the house.”
“No,” he said, and the gotcha moment seemed to ring through the airwaves with crystal clarity. “We agreed you’d keep the assets in your name, and I would keep those in my name.”
Ice slid down her spine. “The house—”
“Is in my name.”
“Don’t do this, Brian,” she said. “Please—”
A voice rang in the background, calling out, “Dad!”
“I need to go.”
“Brian—”
Click.
He hung up.
And when she called back, he didn’t pick up.
Shannon sat on the couch for a long time, the sky darkening, her heart wrenching, aching, throbbing for her daughter. For herself.
She’d given everything to Brian.
And just like life liked to prove to her time and time and time again, giving everything didn’t matter in the least.
Because men didn’t take care with the gifts that were given.
Men didn’t give a fuck about the hearts passed over on a silver platter.
They took and took and took, until she was simply a shell of herself.
She’d thought Brian was different.
Oh, how wrong she’d been.
And now, her daughter was going to pay the price for her naïveté.
She was supposed to be making lesson plans.
Instead, she was sitting in her lawyer’s office.
“The house isn’t in both of your names?” he asked, and the horror in his expression made the knot in Shannon’s gut tighten and sink even lower.
“No,” she said and explained about the difficult pregnancy, about the bed rest and timing of when the house had closed. But as she talked, as she told Alberto more details, the expression on his face didn’t give her comfort.
In fact, it made Shan feel like she was in deep shit.
Deep shit that was getting deeper by the second.
When she’d finished with her explanation, Alberto sat back and steepled his fingers under his chin. “I wish I’d know this before.”
“I-I forgot,” she whispered. “Until the realtor showed up— I— It hadn’t crossed my mind.” A shake of her head. “I had Rylie, and we were so busy, and I was working, and Brian was never—”
She swallowed the rest of her words.
“I’m sure I can get you half of the profits from the sale of the house,” he said, making notes on a legal pad in front of him. “It was an asset acquired during your marriage. I might even be able to go back and secure some child support for Rylie, half of what you’ve been paying for the mortgage over the last year, but if Brian is being honest about his funds being short, then we might have a hard time collecting.”
“I don’t want half of its value,” she whispered. “I just want the house. I—I worked so damned hard to make it a home for Ry and me. It’s the one place—” She cut herself off again. “The court doesn’t care about that, do they?”
Alberto sighed. “It’s a