Chương 9
Grace looked at the legal pad in front of her.
“And that means I’ll have to explain the baby.”
“Possibly.”
“Publicly?”
“If there is a trial, testimony is generally public.”
Grace’s attorney said, “There may be pretrial motions about scope.”
The prosecutor nodded.
“But I don’t want to mislead you. The defense will almost certainly argue that Mrs. Blackwood had no reason to harm you and that you misunderstood an accident. Your account of the conversation may make the paternity issue relevant.”
Grace stared at the edge of the table.
“What if I don’t testify?”
“We continue with the other evidence.”
“Is it enough?”
The prosecutor did not answer quickly.
“That depends on what we can prove.”
“So no.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Her attorney touched her sleeve.
Grace pulled away, then immediately felt rude.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
The prosecutor waited.
Grace said, “Her lawyer contacted my attorney about a settlement.”
The prosecutor’s expression did not change.
“A civil settlement?”
“Yes. Through intermediaries.”
“That’s separate from the criminal case.”
“I know.”
Evelyn’s offer was substantial.
She would resign from Blackwood Development’s board, relinquish several family governance roles, transfer certain assets Nathan had disputed with her for years, and agree to a permanent private no-contact arrangement.
In exchange, Grace would resolve potential civil claims and make no public statements beyond what the law required.
Technically, the agreement did not demand that she refuse to cooperate with prosecutors.
Practically, everyone understood the pressure.
Take the money.
Take the distance.
Stop feeding the story.
Protect the baby.
Protect the marriage.
Protect the company.
Protect yourself.
Grace left the meeting without answering.
Outside, she bought coffee from a cart and stood beside a planter while traffic moved through the intersection.
She had ordered decaf.
The coffee tasted burned.
She drank half anyway.
A woman nearby argued into her phone about dry cleaning.
A man in a suit dropped a stack of papers and swore.
Grace watched him chase one sheet into the street.
Nothing about the world looked morally arranged.
She found that comforting.
When she got home, Nathan was assembling a crib.
He had attached one side backward.
Grace stood in the doorway.
“You have a master’s degree.”
“It’s an unreasonable crib.”
“The picture is literally on the page.”
“The picture is misleading.”
She came closer.
“You put the rail inside out.”
Nathan looked at it.
“Damn.”
Grace sat in the rocking chair.
“I met with the prosecutor.”
He put down the screwdriver.
“What did they say?”
“They need me.”
Nathan sat on the floor.
Grace told him about the conversation.
Then she told him about Evelyn’s offer.
He listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he said, “What do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
“Because everybody keeps asking what I want as if there’s an option where I get something without losing something else.”
Nathan leaned back against the crib.
Grace continued.
“If I testify, people will tear apart the ugliest part of our marriage in public. Mark gets dragged in. The baby gets turned into a headline before she’s born.”
“Yes.”
“If I don’t, your mother might walk away from this.”
“Yes.”
“If I take the settlement, everyone will say I was after money.”
“Some people.”
“If I refuse it, I’m refusing money our child could use because I care what strangers think.”
Nathan was quiet.
“And Maya,” Grace said.
“What about her?”
“She told the truth after she was threatened.”
Nathan’s face tightened.
“She did.”
“If I disappear now, she’s the employee accusing one of the richest women in the county while I hide behind a private agreement.”
“You don’t owe Maya a prosecution.”
“I know.”
“You don’t owe me one either.”
Grace looked at him.
“You want one.”
“Yes.”
“Very badly.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
Nathan rubbed his thumb over the handle of the screwdriver.
“But it isn’t my body that went over the railing.”
Grace swallowed.
He added, “And it isn’t my pregnancy that gets cross-examined.”
The room became quiet.
Grace looked at the unfinished crib.
“You know what I hate?”
“What?”
“That she was right about one thing.”
Nathan waited.
“I was afraid to tell you whose baby this is.”
He looked down.
“I was afraid you’d leave.”
“I almost did.”
Grace appreciated that he did not rewrite the morning into something noble.
“I know.”
“I went to the car.”
“What?”
“The morning you told me. I packed a bag.”
She stared at him.
“You came back with coffee.”
“I packed the bag first.”
Grace felt something hollow open in her chest.
Nathan continued.
“I put it in the trunk. I drove three blocks. Then I sat in a pharmacy parking lot for twenty minutes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because when I came back, I wanted to be the guy who came back.”
Grace looked away.
“That’s not fair.”
“No.”
“You let me think you decided immediately.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He stared at the carpet.
“Ego.”
The answer was so small and ugly that Grace believed it.
Nathan gave a short laugh.
“I wanted credit.”
Grace covered her face.
“This family is exhausting.”
“Deeply.”
She lowered her hands.
“Did you unpack the bag?”
“Eventually.”
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
Grace laughed.
He smiled.
Then she cried.
Nathan remained on the floor.
When she could speak again, she said, “I’m going to testify.”
He did not celebrate.
He nodded.
“Okay.”
“I’m terrified.”
“I know.”
“You’re not supposed to say you know.”
“Right.”
He corrected himself.
“I believe you.”
She looked at him.
“That’s better.”
The trial did not happen quickly.
Nothing important did.
There were motions.
Hearings.
Scheduling conflicts.
Requests for records.
Arguments over the admissibility of the maintenance report.
Arguments over how much of Grace’s reproductive and marital history the defense could introduce.
Arguments over the security footage.
The baby continued growing while lawyers argued about whether her existence explained attempted murder or merely family tension.
Grace found the contrast obscene.
May you like
At thirty-two weeks, she developed insomnia.
She would wake at three and read messages on her phone.
