Page 8

Chapter

Eight

Grace

Grace had never wanted to knock on a door less. Just a few weeks ago she’d been here celebrating the ten-day mark after the adoption papers were signed. Now she had to walk in there and . . . say what?

Ugh, how could she do this to them? She clutched her midsection and whirled on the porch, walking across the deck boards to curl over the railing. This wasn’t fair, none of it. And the worst part was, there was nobody to blame. Amey was convinced she didn’t know the timeline. The social worker was sure they’d had the conversation, but there was no documentation.

She couldn’t blame the therapist for reporting—that was her job—and she couldn’t blame herself, either. The paperwork had looked like it was in order. Why would she have ever thought to second-guess any of the other professionals?

The whole thing was a mess.

But how could she say no to Jenna and Country?

Tyler had told her their story one night when she’d visited him and Emma. That night, she’d gone down the rabbit hole on Turner’s syndrome, and that weekend, she’d gone out to lunch with Jenna.

She loved her immediately, and she loved the idea of doing something meaningful.

Not that property law didn’t matter, but it was often the opposite of heartwarming.

Property law equaled contracts and clauses, negotiations that went in circles, and clients who fought over easements and land use regulations like their lives depended on it. It was development disputes, last-minute financing collapses, and municipal bylaws that never seemed to favour anyone. It involved powerful men in suits with too much money and not enough patience, and investors looking to squeeze every last dollar out of the land beneath them.

It was tangible and high-stakes in a financial sense. But it wasn’t this. It wasn’t a child’s future.

Grace inhaled deeply, straightened her spine, and turned toward the farmhouse. The air was crisp and sharp, biting at her skin as she adjusted the collar of her coat. Alberta winters had a way of waking a person up whether they were ready or not.

She smoothed her hair, clenched her jaw, and knocked firmly on the door as her breath curled around her.

A beat later, the door swung open.

Jenna stood there, messy ponytail, wearing an oversized sweater, Hope resting against her hip. Hope’s chubby fingers tangled in the fabric of Jenna’s shirt, her little face pressed into her mother’s collarbone, still groggy from sleep.

The sight made Grace’s chest ache so fiercely she almost had to take a step back.

“Grace!” Jenna moved aside, ushering her in. “Hope woke up at five, and I couldn’t get her to go back to sleep. Normally, I fly solo for a couple of hours while Country is out doing chores with Polk, but since we knew you were stopping by?—”

“I made breakfast.” Country appeared behind her, his massive frame filling the doorway. He rubbed a hand through his unruly morning hair, already dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. “You hungry? We’ve got pancakes.”

Grace’s throat tightened. She tried to smile, but it barely held. The farmhouse smelled like coffee and maple syrup, the kind of warm, familiar scents that belonged to slow mornings and safe places.

It was homey, lived in, loved.

And Grace was about to drop a bomb in the middle of it.

The wooden floors creaked under her step as she shut the door behind her, shrugging out of her coat. She kicked off her shoes at the door, the cold from outside still clinging to her legs as she followed Jenna and Country into the kitchen.

Jenna moved on autopilot, settling Hope into her swing, then grabbing a clean mug from the cupboard. Country moved to the stove, flipping thick golden pancakes, the scent of butter and cinnamon curling through the air. A plate of crispy bacon sat on the counter beside a bowl of scrambled eggs, piled high, steam still rising off of them.

It was the kind of scene that should’ve been comforting. It made what she had to say so much worse.

Jenna poured a cup of coffee and looked up, her brow furrowing slightly at Grace’s expression. “You okay?”

No. She wasn’t. There was no amount of small talk that was going to make this easier to say, so Grace ripped off the Band-Aid. “I got an email yesterday from Neel Patel, Amey’s lawyer.”

The air shifted. Country’s movements stilled, spatula hovering over the frying pan for just a second too long before he set it down. Jenna’s hand tightened around the handle of her mug.

Grace drew a breath, forcing herself to push through. “She’s petitioning to revoke the adoption.”

Jenna’s face went completely blank. Country exhaled slowly. Grace could almost hear him counting to ten.

“What do you mean she’s revoking it?” Jenna’s voice was steady, but barely. “She signed the papers. We waited the ten days.”

Grace nodded. “I know. But Amey’s arguing she wasn’t able to give full informed consent.”

Jenna’s expression froze.

Country crossed his arms over his chest. “What the hell does that mean?”

Grace sat at the kitchen table, her stomach twisting. “In Alberta, birth parents have ten days after signing to revoke their consent. But the law states that they have to be explicitly informed of that window.” She met Jenna’s gaze. “The social worker didn’t document that conversation.”

The colour drained from Jenna’s face.

Country’s voice dropped to something dark and low. “Are you telling me this entire case comes down to one missing piece of paperwork?”

Grace clenched her jaw. “It’s not just paperwork. It’s procedure.”

Jenna shook her head. “But she knew. Right? She had to know.”

Grace hesitated. Because she didn’t know. Not for certain. She’d gone through every record she had, and there wasn’t anything that could disprove Amey’s assertion. “That’s what we have to prove.”

Jenna ran a shaky hand through her hair, exhaling hard. “She knew. There’s no way she didn’t know.”

Country’s hands braced on the counter. “So what happens now?”

Grace had spent all night reviewing case law, reading every precedent she could find. None of it felt good. “The judge will determine whether she was given all the information necessary to make an informed decision. If they believe there was a failure in procedure, they could allow her case to move forward.”

Jenna stared at her. “And if they do? If they think she wasn’t informed?”

Grace forced herself to say it. “They could vacate the adoption.” The words hung in the air, cold and brutal.

Jenna let out a sharp exhale, eyes wide.

Country nodded once, his voice tight. “So what do we do? How do we fight this?”

Grace fell into lawyer mode because it was the only thing keeping her together. “I’m going to challenge the petition. I’ll argue that she received the proper information and had every opportunity to revoke within those ten days and did not.” She rubbed her temple. “I need to review everything. The social worker’s case notes, the agency’s. I don’t have access to everything yet. Any emails or texts Amey sent during that period. Anything that could indicate she knew.”

Jenna nodded sharply. “Whatever you need. Just tell us what to do.”

Grace curled her hands in her lap. “Thank you. I’ll keep you posted. I’m hoping this won’t get traction, but if it does, we’re going to court.”

Another silence. Then Jenna let out a breath that sounded too much like a sob. Country pulled her in, wrapping an arm around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as they both stared at little Hope in the swing.

She hadn’t planned to stay, but when Country handed her a plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon, she didn’t have the heart to turn it down. She picked up her fork, absently swirling a piece of pancake through a small pool of maple syrup. She wasn’t hungry —her body was too wired, too tense—but she forced herself to take a bite.

Jenna joined her, handing her a cup of coffee, and eventually, Country turned off the stove and sat with them, too. They chatted about the ranch, their property rentals in the silos out back, and the season outlook for the Snowballs. Grace didn’t know hockey, but she was glad to listen and eat.

When she finished, she thanked them profusely and stood to take her dishes to the sink. Country jumped up and insisted on doing it for her.

“You probably have to get going for that meeting.” Jenna smiled and took a sip of her coffee.

Grace blinked, scouring her head for context surrounding that comment.

“Babe, she said she couldn’t help with that.” Country slid her plate into the dishwasher.

Jenna frowned. “Oh! André asked for your number the other day. I assumed he invited you.”

Grace’s stomach dropped. Ah. Right. The text conversation with André replayed in her mind.

“Sorry if he badgered you with that. Told him you had enough on your plate.” Country dried his hands on a dish towel.”

Jenna stood with her mug. “Yes, please. Not a big deal. I’m sure he’ll be able to?—”

“I’m going,” Grace blurted, guilt slamming into her full force. This charity game was important to them, and while the idea of giving any kind of legal advice made her want to rub sandpaper over her eyeballs, it was something she could do.

Jenna’s face lit up with relief. “Oh, I’m so glad. We’ve been worried about ensuring the sponsorships and player contracts were set up correctly. I know you said you weren’t available to do all the paperwork, but even being there to point us in the right direction will be so helpful.”

Grace nodded. “Of course. Happy to help.”

Jenna and Country walked her to the door. She embraced them both as Jenna promised to send over all the communication she had regarding the adoption, then stepped out onto the porch.

Grace pulled out her phone as she walked to the car, her boots crunching over the hardened snow.

Grace

Where’s the meeting?

She silently pleaded that André would see her message. She should’ve asked Jenna, but that would’ve required her to admit that she’d initially declined.

Her phone buzzed as she settled behind the wheel.

André

You can just say you miss me

She ground her teeth, inhaling sharply through her nose.

The meeting, André

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Finally, the response came through.

9 a.m. Heads Up Alberta. I’ll forward you the address. Meet you in the parking lot

She typed the name into her GPS, then pulled out of the driveway. Mist had settled overnight, coating every bare branch in frost that shimmered like crystal in the rising sun.

It was breathtaking. Like a winter wonderland.

Morning traffic was surprisingly calm, which made settling her nerves a tad easier. She tried to take her mother’s advice as she drove into the city.

She couldn’t control this. She had to wait.

Grace drifted as she followed the navigation on her dash, but as she turned onto 6th Ave, something caught her attention. Her shirt was bubbling over her chest. She frowned and felt around, realizing one of her buttons was undone.

At the next red light, she tried to push it through, and the button came off in her hand. She groaned, flicking the fabric to see just how much of her black bra was visible through the gaping hole.

Most of it. Fantastic. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She flipped the button between her fingers as she pulled into a parking spot and did a quick, frantic inventory of her car.

No extra shirt. Anything in her purse? Glove compartment? Napkins, old receipts, a pen with no ink.

The first aid kit her mother bought for her ten years ago when she bought her first car. She lunged for it, shoving aside tire gauges and granola bars, finally landing on a single safety pin.

She murmured a silent prayer of thanks, then fumbled with the tiny metal clasp, trying to maneuver it one-handed over her chest, but the angle was awkward.

She gritted her teeth, glancing around. The lot was full of other cars, but there didn’t seem to be any signs of life. She’d be fast.

Grace inhaled, stripped off her coat, and pulled her shirt over her head. She shivered and laid it out over the steering wheel, making the seams lie flat. She inserted the pin, trying to hide it under the first layer of fabric, then jumped when a tap sounded on her window.

She yelped at the prick of pain in her thumb as her head snapped up.

André stood at the driver’s side, hands shoved in his pockets, watching her like she’d just handed him an early Christmas present.