“Claire, stop acting insane.”
“My daughter can hear you.”
Vanessa lowered her voice, but not her anger.
“You are taking one bad night and using it as an excuse to punish everyone.”
“I’m not punishing anyone.”
“You pulled my financing.”
“I withdrew my guarantee.”
“Same thing.”
“No. Your business is yours. Your debt is yours. I was helping you.”
She stared into the camera.
“So this is about money?”
“No. This is about access. You believed you could say something cruel to my child and still have unlimited access to my home, my finances, and my life.”
“She is six. She’ll forget it.”
Something inside me settled.
“She asked me if she could be ‘un-picked.’”
Vanessa’s expression shifted.
Only for a moment.
Then she crossed her arms.
“I was frustrated.”
“You told a six-year-old who spent years in foster care that she could be returned if she didn’t make room for ‘real children.’”
“I said something stupid.”
“Yes.”
“So what do you want me to do? Beg?”
“No.”
That surprised her.
I continued.
“I want you to stay away from Lily until her therapist and I decide contact is safe. I want you to stop posting about us. And I want you to stop treating my financial support like it belongs to you.”
“You think you’re better than us now.”
“No. I think I was useful to you, and you confused that with obligation.”
Vanessa’s eyes filled, but she didn’t cry.
She moved closer to the camera.
“Mom and Dad could lose the house without your help.”
That wasn’t true.
They could afford their house.
They would simply have to spend less, postpone the kitchen renovation, and stop paying for two country-club memberships.
“They won’t lose it.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes,” I said. “I do.”
She left.
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