Becoming My Ex-husband’s Mistress

Chapter Six

My father is standing by the fireplace with his arms crossed. He’s using his polite face. My mother sits in the armchair across from them, holding a cup of tea she probably hasn’t touched the entire time.

Grant and Isabelle are on the couch together, shoulders touching. Grant looks up when I walk in.

“You’re here,” he says.

“This is my parents’ house.” I set my bag on the table by the door. “Where else would I be?”

He stands. “We should talk. About Mia,” he gestures, as if suggesting we leave the room.

“We can talk here.”

He glances at my parents. My father doesn’t move, just stares at us wordlessly.

“It won’t take long,” Grant tries again.

“I know,” I say, sitting in the chair next to my mother. “So say what you came to say.”

Isabelle reaches over and touches his arm lightly. I barely notice. Grant clears his throat. “I want to take Mia for the week.”

“No.”

He blinks. “Claire—”

“She’s just starting to adjust. I won’t let you disrupt that,” I say tightly. “Besides, you should enjoy your honeymoon. You wouldn’t want a kid disrupting that.”

“I’m her father. I have the right—”

“You have rights,” I cut in. “I’m not disputing that. But it’s almost midnight, Grant. You don’t show up at midnight to take a sleeping child for the week. That’s not how this works.”

Isabelle makes a small sound. Not quite a laugh. “She has a point,” she says to Grant softly. The mediator in the room,like she couldn’t possibly be the reason we’re all here.

I look at her.

“Was I talking to you?”

She holds up one hand. “I’m just saying—”

“I know what you’re doing,” I say. “You’ve been doing it since you walked into my house. You play the calm and reasonable one. But I can see through your bullshit, Isabelle.”

A smile slowly lights up her face. The fake ‘smile for the camera’ kind…

“I’m not doing anything,” she says. “I just want this to go smoothly. For Mia’s sake.”

“Say my daughter’s name one more time,” I say quietly.

The room goes uneasily quiet. I notice the slight shift in her demeanour. She turns to Grant, tilting her head slightly as if waiting for him to step in and manage me.
And predictably, he does.

“You’re being too unreasonably emotional,” he says, heaving a sigh.

“I’m being clear. There’s a difference, and you know that, which is why you don’t like it.”

He exhales. “We’re not here to fight.”

“Then why are you here? It’s midnight, Mia is asleep, a phone call would’ve been enough.” I look at him. “Unless that’s not the real reason you’re here.”

He doesn’t answer.

“We happened to be nearby,” Isabelle says.

My mother sets her cup down, now standing up. She gives dad a look and he nods.

“I think,” dad finally speaks, and both Grant and Isabelle look at him, “that it’s late. Whatever needs to be discussed about my granddaughter can be handled through the appropriate channels.” He looks at Grant directly. “You have a lawyer. Claire has a lawyer. Use them.”

Grant straightens. “Mr. Davidson I—”

“It’s late,” my father repeats.

Grant looks at me once more. Waiting for me to smooth things over the way I would usually do. I raise a brow.

“I’ll have my lawyer call yours,” I say.

His jaw tightens. He reaches for his jacket. Isabelle is already standing, smoothing the front of her dress. She picks up her bag, turns toward the door, then pauses.

“Oh. Claire.” She turns back, voice dropping to something warm. Almost sympathetic. “I hope tonight wasn’t too much. You looked a little overwhelmed when we ran into each other back at the hotel. I was worried.”

I stare at her.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“Good.” She smiles. “You just seemed like you were having a hard night. I told Grant I was worried, and to come check on you.” She glances around the room. “Just to make sure everyone was okay.”

Said so pleasantly that if you weren’t paying attention, you’d miss it entirely.

She saw me outside that hotel, and went straight to Grant to report it. And now they’ve dressed it up as concern and shown up here under the pretense of Mia. I almost admire it.

“Goodnight, Isabelle,” I say.

My father walks them out.

My mother exhales. “She’s something else,” she says quietly.

“Yes,” I say. “She is.”

Dad comes back in, rolling his sleeves back down. He settles into the armchair Grant was sitting in.

“They’ll try to use tonight against you,” he says. “The fact that you were out. That you came back to a hotel with a stranger.” He shakes his head. “They’ll frame it however suits them.”

I hadn’t thought about that.

“Her name is Nora,” I say. “She knows who I am. She’s been to my office before.”

“Still,” he says.

I nod.

“Get some rest. We’ll figure the rest out in the morning.”

Mom squeezes my hand on her way to bed. I stay in the chair after they leave. I reach for my phone.

There’s a message from Nora.

‘You left without saying bye. Rude. Also I just heard Grant showed up at your parents’. Are you okay?’

I read it twice. ‘How do you know that?’ I don’t bother asking how she got my number.

Her reply comes fast. ‘Don’t ask.’ Then seconds later: ‘Seriously though. Are you okay?’

I lean my head back.

‘Getting there’, I type.

She sends a thumbs up, then after a pause: ‘Come for breakfast tomorrow. I want to properly introduce myself.’

I stare at the screen for a while. I almost say no. I have enough on my plate already, legal headaches and emotional weight without adding anything new.

But I think about everything that happened tonight. And I think about my face in the rearview mirror on the drive over. How tired it looked. I need a distraction.

‘Send me the address.’