The request came in at 9:12 a.m., stamped urgent, flagged private.
Evelyn was at the breakfast table when Marcus set his tablet down beside her plate.
“He’s petitioned for private visitation,” he said.
Not asked.
Petitioned.
She didn’t look at the screen immediately. The sunlight through the windows felt intrusive, too bright for something that clinical.
“On what basis?” she asked.
“Spousal rights. Emotional reconciliation. He’s framed it as therapeutic.”
A faint smile touched her mouth. “Of course he did.”
Marcus watched her carefully. “He’s requesting no third-party presence. No recording devices. No time limitation.”
There it was.
Not a conversation.
Control.
She reached for the tablet and read the language herself. Carefully constructed. Concerned husband tone. Strategic v
