The Arrangement He Never Trusted
Over twelve years, Mason had built a thriving home renovation company. He began with one truck, a borrowed ladder, and the kind of determination people only admire after success arrives. Now he owned a beautiful house in North County, employed workers who relied on him, and had finally reached a place where money no longer kept him awake at night.
But none of that protected him from divorce.
Nothing shielded him from drawn-out court dates, careful legal wording, and the painful way strangers reduced a family into calendars, signatures, and divided time.
His former wife, Sabrina Cole, had pushed hard for shared custody. Years earlier, when Mason spent long days fighting to keep his company afloat, Sabrina had been the one home most often. That history followed them into the courtroom. The phrase “primary caregiver” seemed to outweigh everything Mason tried to explain.
So the decision was made.
Shared custody.
Alternate weeks.
Final.
Mason followed every detail because the law demanded it and because he believed that someday—somehow—doing everything the right way would matter.
Still, every Sunday evening, the same thought lingered quietly in the back of his mind.
He hated leaving his little boy there.
And he hated waiting for him to come back.
