Chương 8
“Why before?”
He looked toward something off-screen.
“Because I knew you were going to leave.”
“How?”
“You packed documents.”
A cold feeling moved through me.
“What?”
“You think I didn’t notice?”
I said nothing.
“The fireproof folder was gone.”
“When did you notice?”
“Last month.”
I had moved copies, not originals.
The originals were still in our filing cabinet.
“I didn’t take the folder.”
“You took something.”
“Copies.”
“Same difference.”
“No.”
“You were preparing.”
“So were you.”
His face hardened.
“I was trying to stop you from taking my daughter.”
“Our daughter.”
His eyes flickered.
“I know.”
“Who told you to move the money?”
He looked away again.
“Evan.”
“Mom thought if you had less cash available, you might slow down and talk instead of just leaving.”
For a second, I could not speak.
“You took my money to make it harder for me to leave.”
“It was our money.”
“You said your mother suggested it.”
“She was scared.”
“For you?”
“For Lily.”
I nearly laughed, but nothing about it was funny.
“Did she suggest filing for custody too?”
Silence.
“Did she?”
“She gave me the name of someone.”
“When?”
He stared at the screen.
“About a month ago.”
Before the banquet.
Before the slap.
Before I left.
I felt anger rising again and forced my hand flat against the table.
“What did you tell the lawyer?”
“That things between us were bad.”
“Were they?”
He looked genuinely offended.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“You stopped talking to me.”
“I stopped arguing with you.”
“You moved money.”
“I changed how I paid daycare.”
“You copied documents.”
“Because I didn’t trust you.”
“That’s my point.”
“No, Evan.”
I heard my own voice shaking.
“That is the result.”
He stared at me.
I continued.
“I didn’t stop trusting you because I copied papers.”
I swallowed.
“I copied papers because I had already stopped trusting you.”
His expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
For a moment, he looked tired rather than angry.
Then someone spoke behind him.
A woman’s voice.
“Tell her she can’t keep doing this.”
Diane.
My body went cold.
Evan turned away from the camera.
“Mom.”
I ended the call.
He immediately called back.
I declined it.
A message appeared.
She just came over.
I stared at those words.
Then another.
I didn’t invite her into the call.
I believed him.
That was the worst part.
I believed that Diane had simply appeared in his house and inserted herself into the conversation because that was what she always did.
Another message came.
Please don’t use that against me.
Before I could decide whether to answer, Helen called.
“The judge denied Evan’s request for immediate temporary custody.”
My knees weakened.
I sat down.
“For now?”
“For now.”
Helen’s voice remained cautious.
“The court set an expedited hearing for Monday morning.”
It was Thursday.
Four days.
“What happens until then?”
“There is no order requiring you to return Lily.”
I closed my eyes.
Air moved back into my lungs.
“But there is something else.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“Evan attached an affidavit from his mother.”
I opened my eyes.
Helen continued.
“She claims you have a history of violent outbursts.”
“That’s not true.”
“I know of one incident we need to discuss.”
My stomach tightened.
“What incident?”
“The Christmas dinner three years ago.”
I stared at the wall.
I had almost forgotten.
Helen said, “She says you threw a glass at her.”
“I didn’t throw it at her.”
“What happened?”
“I threw it into the sink.”
“Was she standing near the sink?”
“No.”
“Did it break?”
“Yes.”
“Were you angry with her?”
“Yes.”
“What was the argument about?”
I looked toward Lily.
She was asleep on the couch now, one hand curled beneath her chin.
I remembered Diane three years earlier, smiling across my kitchen table while she told me I should be grateful Evan had married me before I became “too career-focused to be pleasant.”
I remembered walking away.
I remembered her following me into the kitchen.
I remembered the wineglass in my hand.
“It was about me,” I said.
Helen was quiet.
Then she asked, “Who else was there?”
“Evan.”
“Anyone else?”
I thought harder.
The broken glass.
Diane’s voice.
Evan standing in the doorway.
Then another face emerged.
Caroline.
“She was there.”
“Good.”
“I don’t know if she’ll help me.”
“We don’t need her to help you.”
Helen’s voice sharpened.
“We need her to tell the truth.”
I called Caroline that afternoon from Rachel’s bedroom with the door closed.
She answered on the sixth ring.
“Mara.”
Her voice carried the cautious tone people use when they suspect every word may eventually be repeated.
“Hi.”
There was a pause.
“I heard you have a lawyer.”
“I do.”
Another pause.
“Then maybe your lawyer should call me.”
“She might.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“But I wanted to ask you something first.”
Caroline sighed.
“I don’t want to be in the middle of this.”
“You already are.”
“That doesn’t mean I volunteered.”
I almost apologized.
Then I stopped myself.
“I need to know what you remember about the Christmas dinner at our house three years ago.”
Silence.
Long enough that I checked the screen to make sure the call had not disconnected.
Finally, she said, “The glass.”
“Yes.”
“I wondered when that would come up.”
My stomach sank.
“So you remember.”
“I remember enough.”
“What do you remember?”
Caroline’s voice tightened.
“I remember Diane being horrible.”
That was not the answer I expected.
I said nothing.
“She’d had too much wine.”
Caroline continued.
“She kept needling you about work, then about children, then about whether you were making Evan miserable.”
I could hear dishes clinking in her background.
“She followed you into the kitchen.”
“Yes.”
“I followed because I was looking for more ice.”
A short, humorless laugh.
“Which sounds ridiculous now.”
“What happened?”
“You told her to leave you alone.”
“I remember.”
“She didn’t.”
I closed my eyes.
The memory sharpened.
May you like
Diane standing by the dishwasher.
Her red Christmas sweater.
