"Sylvie?" I heard a faint whisper as I tried to open my eyes slightly. Blinking a couple times, I managed to see Claire sitting beside me.
I tried to remember how I ended up here — which quickly reminded me of everything. Lorelai. Fuck. My heart raced suddenly again.
"Claire, fuck, Lore–"
"She's right there, Sylvie." She said calmly, slowly brushing her hand over my hair, pointing toward my left. I turned to see her sitting on a chair and holding a picture book that she loved.
I heaved a huge sigh of relief.
"Where was she? What happened?" I finally asked.
"You fainted," She said, "Probably due to high stress. I am not sure. That was an hour ago, and I just bought you into the room and tried to wake you up. Your pulse was fine so I didn't call the doc, to not risk gaining attention."
I nodded. "Thank you."
"And well, Lorelai somehow ended up in the store room. I found her red ball there, so she might have simply followed it after I let the door open to take out the pan earlier today."
"I didn't even think to check the store room," I whispered, the worry still eminent on my face. "Every second that she's not here, and every second he's still out there, I will be paranoid."
Claire gave me an understanding look. "Well, I'm here for you."
"I know and I'm forever grateful."
_____________
"Here. This has everything. Audio clips, screenshots — loads of them, and even video recordings."
"You have just handed me the smoking gun, Ms. Sylvie," Iver said as he took the pendrive from my hand. "Let me prepare for the case now."
I nodded and looked at him with hops in my eyes. He exhaled, understanding the state of my mind.
"Don't be worried," He said, "I will try my best."
I nodded again. "I know. Thank you, Mr. Vane."
Next Day.
I knew something was wrong when the doorbell rang at 6:14 AM.
Not knocked. Rang.
That meant it wasn't Claire who went out shopping and had just returned or her only friend who visited on Sundays.
Lorelai was still asleep. I pulled my cardigan tighter and opened the door, my heart slightly scared.
"Mrs. Sylvie Ashcroft?" the man asked, trying to identify my face.
"Yes?" I asked, not exactly appreciating the surname.
He handed me an envelope.
"You've been served."
I stared down at the words.
EMERGENCY CUSTODY PETITION
Filed by: Cairo D. Ashcroft
Court Hearing: 72 hours
...
Iver didn't swear much. But when I handed him the documents half an hour later in his office, he dropped his coffee and whispered, "Son of a bitch."
He scanned the paperwork with angry eyes.
"He's framing you for emotional instability," he muttered. "He's claiming you've been drinking, neglecting your daughter, lashing out. Says you're 'unfit due to grief-induced psychological trauma.'"
"That's all lies."
"He knows. Doesn't matter. Emergency custody doesn't require proof — just the appearance of danger."
I felt like I was falling underwater. This is what I feared. He would use his ungodly amount of connections and money to make this a battle I could never win.
"They'll take her?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.
"If we don't stop this? Yes."
I was shaking. "He can't have her. He can't—"
Iver gripped my shoulders, voice low and sharp.
"I promised you this before and I am doing it again. He will never take your daughter away from you as long as I fight from your side."
"Can we use our proof?" I said after a moment of calming down. "Can we, uh, turn the tables on him? Say he's not fit instead?"
"Yes. We can try that but we need to be careful. Ms. Sylvie, this is our only weapon."
I nodded. "I'm aware."
He turned on his laptop and opened a file named Ashcroft 2.
I stared at the name on the screen again.
"Ashcroft 2?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Was there a case 1 before it?"
He didn't answer.
"Ashcroft 1. Is that—was that a case? Something about the Ashcrofts?" My curiosity pushed me forward.
He clenched his jaw. "It's nothing you need to worry about."
"But why is it saved like that? What happened?"
His eyes darkened. "I told you, it's not your concern."
"Please. I need to know. If it involves them, then this is important!" I insisted.
"Yes there was a case," He looked at me before stealing his gaze away to the floor, "The only one I lost. Now let it go."
I stepped closer, refusing to back down. "You lost a case? To the Ashcrofts? Who were you fighting for?"
He finally snapped, voice sharp like a whip, "Enough!"
The sudden anger startled me. He stood up abruptly, pacing. "That case is closed. It's buried for a reason."
"Why?" I pressed, desperate to understand.
He whirled around, his eyes burning. "Because some things are better left forgotten. You wouldn't understand."
"Is that why you took my case?"