Kids needed homes. They needed a resting place. They needed roots and routine. I had all of those in spades. Which meant if she didn’t change her mind, I wouldn’t have a choice. Once this baby was born, he or she was coming home to Montana. I stared at my reflection, hating myself so much that I couldn’t hold my own gaze. If Eva was going to fight for London and the next move and the next move, then I’d fight her for my child. And she’d hate me. She’d fucking hate me. But my kid was worth the fight. And I’d just drawn the battle lines with a kiss.
