Chapter 5: His Mother Answers
Diane looked at me.
I looked at the folder in my hands.
"Answer it," I said.
"Don't tell him you're here.
Don't tell him I'm here.
Just — talk to him normally."
She nodded and accepted the call.
"Ethan."
"Mom." His voice came through the speaker, tight and fast.
"Have you talked to anyone today?
Jamie, or — anyone from the office?"
"I talked to Jamie briefly this morning," Diane said.
Her voice was remarkably steady.
"She was checking in on me.
Why?"
"What did she say?"
"Just that things were a little chaotic at work.
She didn't give me details." Diane kept her eyes on me as she spoke.
"Is everything alright?"
A pause.
"There's some HR stuff going on.
It's nothing serious, it'll get sorted out.
I just need to know — has Nora tried to contact you?"
Diane's jaw tightened.
"Why would Nora contact me?"
"She might try to cause problems.
She's been — look, the divorce hasn't been easy and she's not handling it well.
If she calls you, don't engage.
Just let me know."
I pressed my back teeth together.
"Of course," Diane said.
"I'll let you know."
"Good.
And Mom — don't go to my house, okay?
I've got some work files there I need to sort through and I don't want anything moved."
The silence lasted exactly one second.
"I won't go to your house," Diane said.
"Thanks.
I'll call you later." He hung up.
Diane lowered the phone.
The color had left her face.
"He knows," she said.
"Or he suspects."
"He's worried about the folder," I said.
"He wants to get here before anyone finds it."
We looked at each other.
"How fast is your copier?" I asked.
We had the folder copied in eleven minutes.
Every page.
Diane put the originals back exactly as they were — folder on the desk, paper clip in place, tab facing the same direction.
I took the copies, folded them into my bag, and walked out the front door while Diane locked up behind us.
We were two blocks away when Ethan's car turned onto her street.
Diane saw it first.
She touched my arm without speaking.
I looked.
His silver sedan, moving slowly, the way people drive when they're watching house numbers.
We kept walking.
We didn't run.
We turned the corner and I didn't breathe properly until we were out of his line of sight.
"He's going to find out I was there," Diane said.
"Yes," I said.
"But by then it won't matter."
I called the attorney from the sidewalk.
His name was Paul.
Diane's neighbor's son, thirty-eight years old, family law.
He picked up on the second ring and said he could see me that afternoon.
"Bring everything," he said, after I'd given him sixty seconds of context.
"And don't contact your husband directly.
Not yet."
"I wasn't planning to," I said.
I hung up and stood on the sidewalk in the November cold with a bag full of copies that proved my ex-husband had treated my body like a financial instrument while sleeping with someone else.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text from a number I didn't recognize.
*You don't know me.
But I know what Ethan did.
To you and to someone else.
May you like
I think you should know the full picture before your lawyer meeting.
Can we talk?*
