Chương 9
“No.”
Janet handed me the phone.
There were eleven images from Claire.
Most were screenshots.
I opened the first.
It was a conversation from three months earlier.
Eric had written, I need her to look unreliable before the baby comes.
Claire had answered, Why?
His reply was short.
Because if she finds out about us first, she’ll take everything.
The sentence was so plain that I read it three times before its meaning settled.
Take everything.
Not leave him.
Not expose him.
Not even keep Noah from him.
Everything.
Money.
House.
Reputation.
Control.
Maybe that was what scared Eric most.
Not losing me.
Losing the version of his life where he decided what counted as truth.
I opened the next screenshot.
Claire had written, You keep saying she’s unstable, but every time I see her she seems normal.
Eric replied, You don’t live with her.
Then, after a minute, he added, She hides it well.
The next image showed another conversation.
Claire: If it’s that bad, why are you still there?
Eric: Because leaving before the baby comes would look terrible.
Claire: To who?
Eric: Everyone.
I felt something inside me go still.
Not numb.
Clear.
Noah shifted on my chest and opened his mouth in a silent little yawn.
His entire face scrunched with the effort.
I touched the soft hair at the back of his head.
Janet stood near the foot of the bed.
“Do you want me to put the phone away?”
“Not yet.”
The fourth screenshot was from two weeks earlier.
Claire had asked whether Eric had spoken to an attorney.
He answered, Mom knows someone.
Claire asked, About divorce?
Eric replied, About protecting the baby first.
My thumb stopped.
Protecting the baby.
That was the phrase he had used downstairs.
The fifth screenshot made my stomach turn.
Eric: Rachel won’t cooperate once she knows.
Claire: Knows what?
Eric: About us.
Claire: Then tell her before the birth.
Eric: And give her time to destroy me?
Claire: What does that even mean?
Eric: She could move money.
Claire: Isn’t it joint money?
No answer followed.
I looked up at Janet.
“Can I make sure he can’t access our bank account?”
Her expression shifted slightly.
“That’s outside what I can advise you on.”
“I know.”
“But if you are concerned about financial access, you may want to contact your bank directly or have someone you trust help you review the accounts.”
“Lauren.”
“Probably.”
I glanced at Noah.
The idea of discussing passwords and checking balances while he lay warm against me felt obscene.
But so did the idea of waiting.
I called Lauren.
She answered immediately.
“Tell me the baby is here.”
“He’s here.”
A sound came through the speaker that was half laugh, half cry.
“Oh my God.”
“He has dark hair.”
“Of course he does.”
“What does that mean?”
“You and Eric both have dark hair.”
“Right.”
I had forgotten that basic fact.
Lauren sniffed.
“How are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Good answer.”
“Noah is okay.”
“Noah?”
“Yes.”
“I like it.”
“Middle name Hayes.”
She went quiet.
Then, “Oh.”
I stared at his tiny ear.
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re crying.”
“I am absolutely not.”
“You sound like a clogged sink.”
“Shut up.”
I smiled.
Then I remembered why I had called.
“I need you to check the bank accounts.”
Her tone sharpened.
“What happened?”
“More messages.”
“From Eric?”
“From Claire.”
“What do they say?”
“He was worried I’d move money.”
Lauren was silent for one beat.
Then another.
“Okay.”
“Can you log in?”
“Not without your password.”
“I’ll text it.”
“No.”
“What?”
“Change it first.”
I stared at the phone.
Right.
Of course.
He knew that password too.
“Okay.”
“Do it now.”
I opened the banking app with shaking fingers.
Face ID worked.
For once, convenience did not feel sinister.
I changed the password.
Then the email password connected to the account.
Then I remembered the recovery email was our shared household address.
“Damn it.”
“What?”
“He can reset things through the shared email.”
“Change that too.”
“I can’t think.”
“Then listen to me.”
Lauren’s voice slowed.
“One thing at a time.”
I did.
Email.
Banking.
Credit card.
Cloud storage.
The mortgage portal.
Every account seemed attached to another account, which was attached to a phone number, which was attached to a life I had assumed was shared because marriage was supposed to make certain forms of access feel ordinary.
By the time I finished, Noah had been taken briefly for measurements and returned wrapped in a white hospital blanket with narrow blue and pink stripes.
His weight was six pounds, eleven ounces.
I repeated it aloud because I wanted one number from this day to mean only one thing.
Lauren logged into the joint checking account.
“Well.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“There was a transfer this morning.”
“How much?”
“Four thousand dollars.”
“To where?”
“An account I don’t recognize.”
My hand went cold around the phone.
“What time?”
She paused.
“Seven fifty-two.”
Before Eric left for his fake client meeting.
I looked at Noah.
“Anything else?”
“Checking the savings.”
I waited.
She exhaled.
“Nothing today.”
“Today?”
“There was a transfer yesterday.”
“How much?”
“Eight thousand.”
My mouth dried out.
“To the same account?”
“Yes.”
I did the math badly at first.
Then again.
“Twelve thousand.”
“Yes.”
“That’s nearly half our liquid savings.”
“I know.”
“Can you screenshot everything?”
“Already doing it.”
I closed my eyes.
The ordinary ceiling tiles above me had tiny perforated holes in them.
I counted six rows without meaning to.
“Rachel.”
“I’m here.”
“You need a lawyer.”
“I know.”
“Today.”
“I just had a baby.”
“I know.”
The tenderness in her voice made me angry.
Not at her.
At the fact that she had to sound tender because my husband had apparently spent months preparing for war while I was ordering diaper cream.
“I don’t want today to be about him.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“It already is.”
“No.”
May you like
Lauren said it firmly.
“It’s partly about what he did.”
