Chương 8
She did not react when Catherine described the recording.
She did not react when Catherine explained the affair.
She only wrote notes.
“Do you believe there is any risk of violence?” Ruth asked.
“No.”
“Any substance abuse?”
“He drinks, but not heavily.”
“Threats?”
“No.”
“Financial control?”
Catherine paused.
“We have joint accounts.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“He manages most investments.”
“Do you have access?”
“Yes.”
“Do you review them?”
“Sometimes.”
“How often?”
Catherine looked at Eleanor.
“Not recently.”
Ruth put her glasses down.
“Do you own shares in your husband’s company?”
“Twelve percent.”
“In your name?”
“Through a trust.”
“Who controls the trust?”
“I do, with an independent trustee.”
“Does your husband have authority to pledge, transfer, vote, or encumber those shares?”
“No.”
“Has he asked you to sign anything recently?”
Catherine remembered an envelope on the kitchen counter three weeks earlier. Michael had said it was routine consent related to the merger. She had signed two pages while standing beside the sink, one hand resting on her stomach.
“Yes.”
Ruth’s pen stopped.
“What did you sign?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you keep a copy?”
“He said the office would send one.”
“Did they?”
“I don’t think so.”
Ruth leaned back.
“This may be entirely routine. It may also be important. We will obtain copies before drawing conclusions.”
Catherine felt heat rise into her face. “I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I sign contracts for my own work.”
“What work?”
“I design hospitality interiors.”
“Then you know intelligent people sign documents they trust someone else to explain.”
Catherine looked down at her swollen hands.
Ruth continued. “We are not filing today unless you want to. We are preserving information, confirming assets, and preventing avoidable mistakes. Change passwords on personal email, banking, cloud storage, and the security system. Do not access accounts that are not yours. Do not delete messages. Do not post publicly. Do not threaten disclosure to gain money or custody concessions.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“People do things under pressure they never imagined doing.”
Eleanor made a small sound.
Ruth waited while Catherine adjusted the blanket.
“What about Michael seeing her?” Catherine asked.
“Do you believe he is unsafe with the baby?”
“No.”
“Then this is not a question of punishment. It is a question of practical care and your recovery. You can arrange brief visits with another adult present until you feel physically stronger and communication is calmer.”
“He’ll say I’m controlling him.”
“He may.”
“He’ll say I’m using her.”
“He may.”
“What do I say?”
“The truth. She is a newborn. You are recovering. Visits need to occur where you are staying, on a schedule that supports feeding and rest.”
“That sounds cold.”
“It sounds clear.”
Catherine almost smiled. “Michael hates clear when it isn’t his idea.”
“Most people do.”
Ruth requested copies of the merger documents, the trust paperwork, recent statements, and all communications relating to the forms Catherine had signed.
Before Catherine left, Ruth said, “There is one more thing.”
Catherine waited.
“Your husband may be genuinely remorseful. He may also be frightened about his business, reputation, and access to his child. Those feelings can exist at the same time.”
“I know.”
“Don’t mistake tears for proof of only one motive.”
Michael’s first visit with Eleanor took place in Leah’s living room on Friday morning.
He arrived ten minutes early carrying white roses, a stuffed elephant, two bags of groceries, and a box containing an expensive sterilizer Catherine had said she did not want.
Leah opened the door.
“Flowers stay outside,” she said.
“They’re for Catherine.”
“She hates white roses.”
Michael looked toward Catherine, who sat on the sofa with Eleanor in her arms.
“You said they were elegant.”
“At our wedding.”
“So you do like them.”
“I said they matched the tablecloths.”
Leah took the grocery bags and left the roses on the porch.
Michael removed his coat. His eyes stayed on the baby.
Catherine had expected another argument. Instead he stood in the middle of the room, suddenly uncertain of his hands.
“Wash them,” she said.
He went to the kitchen sink.
Leah followed, probably to ensure he did not substitute emotional devastation for soap.
When he returned, Catherine adjusted Eleanor’s blanket.
“Sit there.”
Michael sat in the armchair opposite her.
Catherine stood carefully and crossed the short distance between them. She placed Eleanor in his arms, correcting the position of his elbow beneath the baby’s head.
He looked down.
His face folded.
No sound came from him. His mouth tightened, and tears moved over his cheeks before he could wipe them away.
Eleanor opened her eyes.
They were dark and unfocused. She stared somewhere near his chin.
“Hi,” Michael whispered.
Catherine turned toward the window.
Outside, Noah attempted to bounce a basketball without making noise. Each careful thump was followed by a glance toward the house.
“She’s so small,” Michael said.
“Yes.”
“Was she this small when—”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
Catherine wanted him to ask about the birth. She wanted to tell him how the room filled with people when the heart monitor changed, how Daniel’s voice remained calm while nurses moved faster, how Eleanor did not cry for the first terrible seconds.
Michael touched one finger to the baby’s hand.
Eleanor closed her fingers around it.
He cried harder.
Leah came into the room carrying coffee. She stopped, then quietly set the mug down near him.
For twenty minutes, no one mentioned Amber.
Michael asked how often Eleanor ate, whether the pediatrician was satisfied, and whether Catherine was sleeping. His questions were clumsy but sincere. He listened to the answers.
Then his phone vibrated.
He looked at the screen.
Catherine watched his expression change.
“Who is it?”
“Work.”
“Amber?”
“No.”
“Show me.”
Michael looked up.
The request hung between them.
Catherine hated herself for making it. She hated him for making it reasonable.
He turned the screen toward her.
The caller was Martin Vale, his business partner.
Catherine nodded.
May you like
Michael silenced the call.
“Martin knows something is wrong,” he said.
