I set Maya down in her high chair, offering her a slice of apple, and poured two cups of hot coffee.
“Have you heard from him?” my mother asked gently, taking a seat at the island.
“His attorney emailed yesterday regarding his supervised visitation schedule for next month,” I replied, my voice completely free of bitterness. “He asked if I would be open to talking to him directly.”
“And what did you say?”
I smiled, taking a slow sip of my coffee as I looked out at the blooming cherry blossom tree in the backyard.
“I told him that all communications must continue through my legal representation. I don’t speak to strangers.”
My mother smiled, reaching across the counter to pat my hand with deep, quiet pride.
That afternoon, after my mother left and Maya fell fast asleep in her crib, I walked out onto the back patio with a book and a cold glass of iced tea.
