Chapter 3 - Welcome Home, Daddy
When Marcus finally texted that he'd be back Sunday and "needed to talk," I already knew more than he thought I did.
I brought the girls home from the hospital two days before his flight landed. They were still tiny. Still up every few hours.
Sunday morning I dressed all three in matching pink onesies, buckled them into the triple stroller, and drove to the airport.
I made a sign, too. Poster board, big block letters.
Welcome Home, Daddy.
That part wasn't a trick. I wanted him to see exactly what he'd walked away from.
The arrivals doors slid open.
Marcus saw me first. Then the stroller. Then he stopped walking.
He was tan. Rested. Relaxed in a way I hadn't looked in half a year. One hand pulled a suitcase. The other arm was wrapped up in a woman in a white silk blouse, her red nails hooked around his bicep like she owned it.
She looked at me, then at the sign, then at the babies. She let out a soft little laugh.
"You didn't tell me she'd bring all three."
My stomach dropped.
"Marcus?" I said.
He breathed out once and squared his shoulders, the way he always did right before he made something my fault. "Nora. I didn't know you were coming."
"I thought your daughters might want to meet their father."
The woman's head turned. "Daughters?"
"You didn't know about them," I said. Not a question.
Her face changed fast. "I'm Bianca," she said slowly. "He told me you two were separated."
"We weren't."
"Can we not do this in the middle of an airport?" Marcus stepped between us, too quick.
"You left me on bed rest," I said. "You were gone through a high-risk delivery and three months in the NICU. Here is fine."
Bianca took a step back from him.
"Nora." His voice dropped low and hard. "This is not the place."
"No. The hospital was the place. The NICU was the place. My living room, alone, signing insurance forms — that was the place. You gave up the quiet conversation when you answered a photo of your premature daughters with one word."
His jaw tightened. "Nora—"
"Cute," I said. "That was your word."
Bianca stared at him. "You saw your babies in the hospital and sent that?"
"I was on a ship with terrible reception. I didn't know what to say." Then he slid into the tone I knew from every fight we'd ever had — the one where everyone else was overreacting and he was the real victim. "I came back so we could settle this like adults. The divorce. The money. The house."
"The house."
"We can't afford to drag this out, Nora. Be practical. I found real love out there. You're going to have to manage the babies on your own now." He said it as casually as ordering a coffee. "I want the divorce, and I want you to sign your rights to the house over to me. For me and my new life."
For one second the whole terminal seemed to go silent.
And that was when I saw it — the one detail he and Bianca had never once thought to check.
The devastation just drained out of me.
I smiled so sweetly it could have rotted teeth.
"Of course, sweetheart," I said.
Because I already knew what was walking up behind him.
A man in a gray suit stepped in close, holding a thick envelope. "Are you Marcus?"
Marcus turned. The color left his face.
"You've been served."
Bianca looked between them. "Served with what?"
I answered before he could. "A divorce petition. Emergency financial orders. And a notice that the bank has been informed about the forged mortgage documents."
That part wasn't luck. Once my lawyer confirmed his return flight, she arranged for him to be served the second he landed. Public place. Confirmed arrival. Nowhere to hide from the paperwork.
Marcus rounded on me. "You did this here?"
"No," I said. "You did this when you forged my signature on a second mortgage and spent the money on a four-month vacation."
Bianca went completely still. "What?"
"There was no contest, Bianca. There was debt. A mountain of it. I found the loan documents. I found the notices. I found my name signed in his handwriting."
She looked at him like she'd never seen him before. "You told me you won that trip."
Marcus tried for a smile. It collapsed halfway up. "I can explain."
"Can you." She wasn't asking either. He reached for her arm. She stepped clear of him before his hand landed. "You've got a wife, three newborns, a house in foreclosure, and forged bank papers. What is the explanation supposed to sound like?"
He turned back to me, furious now that the act had fallen apart. "You set me up."
I reached down and straightened the blanket over the nearest baby. "No. I just let the truth meet you where you landed."
Bianca was already backing away. "Don't call me," she told him. Then she turned and walked out of the terminal and didn't look back once.
Marcus watched her go for one stunned second, then spun to face me. "This isn't over."
"It is for me."
He tore the envelope open with shaking hands, flipping through the pages, breathing fast.
"Nora, listen to me—"
"I listened to you for months," I said. "I listened when you said you needed a break. I listened when you said we'd talk later. I listened while you pretended leaving was temporary instead of a choice."
Then he finally looked at the stroller. Really looked. Three sleeping girls. Three pink hats. Three faces he'd chosen not to know.
For half a second something real crossed his face. It came far too late to matter.
I picked up the Welcome Home, Daddy sign, folded it once down the middle, and tucked it into the basket under the stroller. Then I put both hands on the handlebar.
"You should read every page before you call anyone," I said. "Especially the parts about the forged signature."
"Nora—"
I was already moving past him.
May you like
He'd always told me I figured things out. For once, he was right.
The airport doors slid open and the sun hit my face as I pushed my daughters out toward the parking lot. Without their father, yes. But steadier than we'd been in a long time — now that he was finally gone.
