Chapter 9: Everything That Came After
Luca was formally charged six weeks later.
Marcus called while I was between patients on a Tuesday afternoon.
I stepped into the corridor outside the ward and leaned against the wall.
"Fraud, criminal @buse, and conspiracy to commit fraud," Marcus said.
"Patricia Gould has been charged separately.
The DA's office is treating the Whitmore connection as a separate criminal enterprise."
"And Forsythe?"
"Cooperating.
He claims he didn't know the full picture when he took the case.
The bar association will decide whether they believe him."
"What about the offshore account?"
"Frozen.
The funds are part of the fraud case.
You'll need to file a civil claim separately, but Marcus Hale's office has already started the paperwork." A brief pause.
"Jessi.
This is a strong case.
I want you to know that."
I looked through the small window in the ward door.
A patient was asleep.
A monitor beeped steadily.
"Thank you," I said.
"For everything."
I went back to work.
Chloe called that evening.
I let it ring twice before I answered, which was progress from the week before, when I hadn't answered at all.
"I heard about the charges," she said.
"Yes."
A long pause.
"I know I don't get to ask for anything.
I know that.
But I need you to know that I have thought about what I did every single day.
Not just the last four weeks.
All of it.
From the beginning."
"I know," I said.
"You do?"
"You kept the messages, Chloe.
You came in voluntarily.
You didn't ask for anything in return." I paused.
"I'm not ready to have a conversation yet.
But I know."
She was quiet for a moment.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay.
That's enough for now."
I ended the call and sat in the quiet of Nina's spare room, which had become my room, which was slowly becoming something that felt like mine.
Fiona had started at a new preschool.
On her third day, she came home and told me that her teacher's name was Miss Adaeze and that Miss Adaeze had a plant on her desk named Steve.
"Steve is a succulent," Fiona explained with great authority.
"Is he happy?" I asked.
She thought about it.
"Miss Adaeze says he is.
She says succulents don't need much.
They just need the right amount."
I looked at my daughter — her serious face, her complete confidence in this information — and felt something loosen in my chest.
Something that had been held very tight for a very long time.
"That's good advice," I said.
"I know," she said.
"I'm going to tell Gerald."
Three months after the hearing, I signed the lease on a two-bedroom apartment four streets from Nina's building.
It had a small balcony and a kitchen with enough counter space and a second bedroom with a window that caught the afternoon light.
Fiona chose her own curtains.
Yellow, with small white stars.
On the first night, after she was asleep, I made a cup of tea and stood on the balcony and looked out at the street below.
It was an ordinary street.
People walking dogs.
A couple arguing gently about something.
A light on in the window across the way.
I held the cup with both hands.
I did not think about Luca.
I did not think about the offshore account or the USB drive or the nineteen months of fog that had been done to me deliberately, carefully, by someone who had slept beside me and called me his wife.
I thought about Fiona's yellow curtains with the white stars.
About Gerald the rabbit.
About a succulent named Steve who didn't need much — just the right amount.
The tea was warm.
The street was quiet.
I stayed on the balcony until the cup was empty, and then I went inside and locked the door behind me, and for the first time in longer than I could clearly remember, the lock felt like mine.
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*Some people count on us being too exhausted, too confused, or too ashamed to see what's being done to us.
Jessi saw it anyway — and she didn't look away.*
*Have you ever had to trust your instincts when everyone around you was telling you that you were wrong?
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