Chapter 2 - The Paper Trail
My phone vibrated almost instantly against the granite countertop. Three dots bounced on the Facebook Messenger screen, disappearing and reappearing as Tara typed her response.
*“We all chipped in for the childcare fee Scott set up!”* she wrote, followed by a screenshot.
I zoomed in on the image. It was a digital flyer Scott had posted to the private event page for the baby shower. Under a pastel-pink banner that read *Celebrating Baby Avery!*, there was a neatly formatted paragraph:
*“To ensure all parents can relax and enjoy the celebration upstairs, we’ve arranged dedicated, private on-site childcare in the finished basement! Unlimited snacks, games, and supervision provided. Fee: $75 per family. Please Venmo @Scott-Miller-82 with the memo ‘Kids Club’ prior to Saturday.”*
My breath hitched in my throat. I stared at the screen, my pulse thrumming behind my temples.
Tara followed up with another text: *“There were five families who brought their kids, so Scott collected around $400 or $450 total. We all thought it was so generous of June to spend her weekend afternoon doing that. We assumed he gave her the pot! Did he not?”*
*Four hundred and fifty dollars.*
My twelve-year-old had spent five exhausting hours corralling toddlers, cleaning up juice spills, wiping noses, and mediating tantrums in a basement while twenty adults drank mimosas upstairs. She hadn't received a penny. Not even a slice of cake. When she had asked for her earnings, her own father had looked her in the eye and told her the money belonged to "the family" to pay for his new baby's diapers.
I took a screenshot of Tara’s message and saved the flyer to my cloud storage.
*“No, Tara,”* I replied calmly, keeping my emotions locked down. *“June didn't receive anything. In fact, Scott told her it was voluntary family help.”*
A three-second pause, and then Tara called my phone directly. I answered on the second ring.
“Holly? Are you serious?” Tara’s voice was laced with disbelief and mounting anger. “I gave him eighty dollars cash at the door because my Venmo was glitching! I watched him put it in his wallet! He told me June was saving up for a summer camp trip and that this was her little business venture!”
“June didn’t know anyone paid until ten minutes ago,” I said, my voice dangerously steady. “And Scott didn't mention a single word of this to me when he picked her up for his scheduled weekend visitation.”
“That is disgusting,” Tara breathed. “Holly, that’s not just cheap—that’s exploitation. We brought our kids thinking there was an organized, well-compensated caregiver down there. If I’d known he was just sticking his twelve-year-old downstairs to run an unpaid daycare so he could play the big-spending host upstairs, I never would have come!”
“Can you send me a screenshot of the guest list on that event page?” I asked.
“Sending it right now,” she replied without hesitation. “And if you need me to talk to your lawyer, I will.”
May you like
After hanging up, I leaned against the counter and closed my eyes. The divorce had been finalized two years ago. I had spent those two years swallowing my pride, accommodating Scott’s late drop-offs, ignoring his passive-aggressive jabs, and trying to foster a healthy relationship between him and June.
I had tolerated his selfishness when it was directed at me. But turning our daughter into unpaid labor to subsidize his lifestyle with his new wife? That line had been crossed, pulverized, and blown away in the wind.
