Melinda’s POV
I stood in the doorway of my office, fingers wrapped tight around a ceramic mug that had long gone cold. My coffee was untouched, but I didn’t care. Across the room, James sat at the far edge of the leather sofa, flipping through a file I’d reluctantly handed him.
The last thirty minutes had felt like a deposition.
Legal documents. Custody options. A co-parenting proposal so meticulously outlined, it could’ve been drafted by a courtroom mediator.
But James hadn’t flinched once.
Not when I laid out visitation schedules.
Not when I insisted on supervised interactions for the first 60 days.
Not even when I demanded he sign a document pledging non-interference with my company.
He just nodded, reviewed, and occasionally scribbled a note.
Too quiet.
Too composed.
And som
