Updated Oct 29, 2025 • ~9 min read
Five days passed.
Five days of Jane going through the motions. Feeding Clara—now seven months old and starting to sit up on her own. Changing diapers. Answering emails from Penelope Ashford about the theft lawsuit. Reviewing documents from the prosecutor’s office about David’s criminal trial.
Five days of functioning without actually living.
Gabriel texted once a day. Always checking on Clara. Never pushing. Never demanding.
How’s the baby?
Clara sleeping better?
Need anything?
Jane answered minimally. Told him everything was fine. That they didn’t need anything.
All lies.
Because everything wasn’t fine. And she needed him desperately.
But admitting that felt like weakness. Like proving David right—that she was needy and pathetic and couldn’t survive without a man.
So she stayed silent. Stayed alone. Stayed numb.
On day six, Clara started crying at two in the morning.
Jane dragged herself out of bed. Checked diaper. Fed her. Rocked her. Nothing helped.
Clara just kept crying. Inconsolable.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Jane’s voice was hoarse from exhaustion. “What do you need?”
Clara cried harder.
Jane tried everything. Bouncing. Singing. Walking in circles around the bedroom. Nothing worked.
By three a.m., Jane was crying too. Sitting on the floor with her screaming daughter, both of them falling apart.
“I can’t do this,” Jane sobbed. “I can’t do this alone. I can’t—”
Her phone was on the nightstand. Three steps away. She could call Gabriel. He’d answer immediately. Would probably drive the three hours from Seabrook Bay tonight if she asked.
But asking felt like admitting defeat.
Like proving she was exactly what David said—too weak to survive on her own.
So Jane didn’t call. Just held Clara and cried and waited for morning.
Clara finally fell asleep around four-thirty. Exhausted from crying. Jane laid her in the crib, collapsed into bed, and got twenty minutes of sleep before Clara woke up again.
The day was a blur. Jane functioned on autopilot. Made coffee. Fed Clara. Stared at legal documents without actually reading them.
Penelope called around noon.
“Jane? You sound terrible.”
“Thanks. Feel terrible.” Jane shifted Clara to her other hip. “What’s up?”
“Just wanted to update you on the theft case. Vivienne’s lawyer is asking for a settlement. They’ll return the necklace and pay your legal fees if you drop the lawsuit.”
Jane should have felt victorious. This was what she wanted—the necklace back, public acknowledgment of the theft.
Instead she just felt tired.
“Tell them yes. I just want the necklace. I don’t care about the rest.”
“You sure? We could push for more—”
“I’m sure. End it.” Jane rubbed her eyes. “How’s the criminal case going?”
“Prosecutor says it’s strong. David’s lawyer is already trying to negotiate a plea deal. Apparently Wesley Dupont’s testimony is even more damaging than they thought.”
“Good.” Jane should have felt something. Satisfaction. Vindication. Justice.
She felt nothing.
“Jane, are you okay?” Penelope’s voice was concerned. “You don’t sound like yourself.”
“I’m fine. Just tired. Baby isn’t sleeping.”
“Do you have help? Family? Friends?”
Jane thought of Gabriel. Three hours away in Seabrook Bay. Waiting for her to ask him to come back.
“I’m managing,” Jane said. “Thanks for the update.”
She ended the call.
Looked down at Clara, who was chewing on her fist and staring up at her with David’s eyes.
Jane felt a wave of something dark. Something ugly.
This is your fault. If you hadn’t been conceived, I could have left sooner. Could have been free.
The thought was so vile that Jane immediately started crying.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Clara. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
But the thought had been there. Just for a second. And it terrified her.
Was this what David felt? Looking at the baby he’d never wanted? The child who represented everything he’d tried to destroy?
Jane set Clara in her bouncer. Walked to the bathroom. Stared at herself in the mirror.
Dark circles under her eyes. Hair unwashed. Still wearing yesterday’s clothes.
She looked like someone barely holding on.
“Get it together,” she told her reflection. “You survived David trying to kill you. You can survive sleep deprivation.”
Her reflection didn’t look convinced.
Jane splashed water on her face. Changed clothes. Made another pot of coffee.
Picked up her phone. Stared at Gabriel’s name in her contacts.
Call him. Just call him. He said he’d come if you needed him.
But pride—stupid, destructive pride—kept her from pressing the button.
Instead she opened her laptop. Reviewed more legal documents. Sent emails. Pretended to be functional.
Clara fussed. Jane picked her up. Walked her around the house. Sang lullabies that came out flat and broken.
Outside, the sun set. Day six became day seven.
Jane made it through dinner. Through Clara’s bath. Through bedtime routine.
Put Clara down in her crib. Stood there watching her sleep.
“Your uncle loves us,” Jane whispered. “And I pushed him away because I’m an idiot.”
Clara slept on. Peaceful. Innocent. Unaware of her mother’s self-destruction.
Jane went downstairs. Made tea she wouldn’t drink. Sat on the couch. Stared at nothing.
A knock on the door made her jump.
It was eight o’clock. Dark out. No one should be here.
Fear spiked through her exhaustion. David? Impossible—he was in jail. But what if he’d made bail? What if—
Jane grabbed her phone. Crept to the window.
A woman stood on the porch. Professional clothes. Holding a manila envelope.
Jane opened the door slightly. “Yes?”
“Jane Mercer?”
“Who’s asking?”
“I’m Aurora Lefevre. Process server.” She held out the envelope. “You’ve been served.”
Jane took it automatically. “Served with what?”
“Legal documents. Good luck.” Aurora was already walking back to her car.
Jane closed the door. Stared at the envelope.
Astor v. Mercer – Emergency Custody Petition
Her hands started shaking.
She tore open the envelope. Read the first page. Then the second.
Petitioner David Astor seeks emergency custody of minor child Clara Eleanor Mercer on grounds that respondent Jane Mercer is unfit mother. Petitioner asserts that respondent suffers from mental illness, engaged in identity fraud, and has kidnapped child who is biological offspring of petitioner…
Jane read the entire filing. Every vile, calculated lie.
David claimed Clara was his daughter. That Jane had kidnapped her. That she was mentally unstable and dangerous. That the child needed to be removed immediately for her own safety.
There was more. Allegations of Jane faking her death to avoid legal consequences. Claims that she’d abandoned her family and responsibilities. Accusations that she was an unfit mother who couldn’t properly care for an infant.
At the bottom: Emergency hearing scheduled for ten days from this date.
Ten days. In ten days, David would try to take Clara from her.
Jane’s numbness shattered. Pure rage replacing it.
He was in jail for trying to murder her. And he was suing for custody.
From prison. Where he belonged. Because he’d hired someone to kill her.
And he thought he had any right to their daughter.
Jane grabbed her phone. Dialed without thinking.
Gabriel answered on the second ring. “Jane? Is Clara okay?”
“He’s suing me for custody.” The words tumbled out. “David. From jail. He’s claiming Clara is his and I kidnapped her and I’m unfit and—” Her voice broke. “He’s trying to take her from me.”
Silence on the other end. Then: “I’m on my way. Pack essentials. Don’t talk to anyone until I get there. Do you understand?”
“Gabriel—”
“Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Lock the doors. Don’t answer for anyone but me. I’ll be there in three hours.” His voice was hard. Protective. “Jane—breathe. You’re not going to lose her. I promise you’re not going to lose her.”
“How can you promise that?”
“Because I won’t let it happen. Just—hold on. I’m coming.”
He ended the call.
Jane stood in the empty farmhouse, custody papers in one hand, phone in the other.
And realized: she needed Gabriel.
Not because she was weak. Not because she couldn’t survive alone.
But because she didn’t want to.
Because fighting David for custody of Clara was too big, too scary, too important to do without someone who loved them both.
Because she’d spent seven days pretending she was fine alone, and she was barely holding on.
Because love wasn’t weakness. It was strength.
And she loved Gabriel Astor.
Loved him enough to stop pushing him away.
Loved him enough to let him help.
Loved him enough to admit she needed him.
Jane looked at the custody filing. At David’s lies and manipulation and desperate attempt to destroy her one more time.
“You’re not taking her,” Jane said out loud. “You tried to kill us once. You don’t get another chance.”
She went upstairs. Checked on Clara—still sleeping peacefully, unaware of the fight coming.
Then Jane sat in the rocking chair and waited.
For Gabriel. For help. For the strength she couldn’t quite summon alone.
Three hours felt like an eternity.
But when headlights finally swept across the windows, when she heard Gabriel’s truck in the driveway, when he knocked gently on the door—
Jane opened it and fell into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed into his chest. “I’m so sorry. For pushing you away. For saying those things. For being too scared to—”
“Shh. Later. We’ll talk about us later.” Gabriel held her tight. “Right now we focus on Clara. On making sure David can’t touch her.”
“I can’t lose her. I can’t—”
“You won’t. I promise.” Gabriel pulled back just enough to look at her face. “We’re going to fight this. Together. And we’re going to win.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because he’s in jail for trying to murder you. Because you’re an excellent mother. Because the law is on our side.” Gabriel’s eyes were fierce. “And because I won’t let him take anything else from you.”
Jane wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that everything would be okay.
But she’d learned the hard way that wanting something didn’t make it true.
Still. Having Gabriel here, solid and real and determined—it helped.
Made the impossible feel slightly less impossible.
“Thank you,” Jane whispered. “For coming. For not giving up on me. For—”
“Always,” Gabriel said simply. “I’ll always come. No matter what.”
And this time, Jane believed him.
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