Chapter 6: He Doesn't Know About the Other One
I called Patricia from the back porch while my brother stayed inside with Lily.
"She said what?" Patricia's voice was sharp.
"'He doesn't know about the other one yet.' Those were the exact words, according to Lily."
A pause.
"How confident are you in what Lily heard?"
"She's eight.
She's scared.
But she's also been listening carefully to everything in that house for a long time." I looked out at the yard — the swing set I'd assembled two summers ago, the grass that needed cutting.
"I believe her."
"All right." Patricia's tone shifted into something more deliberate.
"This tells me one of two things.
Either your wife has a second piece of evidence she intends to use — another recording, a document, photographs — or there's a second person involved.
Someone who can corroborate her version of events."
"A witness."
"Possibly.
Or an ally.
Someone she's already spoken to who's prepared to say something on her behalf." A pause.
"Has she ever mentioned anyone — a friend, a family member, a neighbor — who spends time at the house when you're away?"
I thought about it.
Sandra's sister lived forty minutes north.
Her mother was in Florida.
There was a woman from her book club — Renee — who came by occasionally.
A neighbor named Doug who'd helped with the fence last spring.
"No one specific," I said.
"No one who would have reason to—"
Then I stopped.
"What?" Patricia said.
"Her therapist," I said slowly.
"She started seeing a therapist about eight months ago.
She mentioned it once and I didn't ask questions.
I thought it was a good sign."
"Do you know the therapist's name?"
"No."
"Find out," Patricia said.
"If your wife has been building a narrative with a mental health professional for eight months, that professional may have records.
Records that reflect only what Sandra chose to share."
The implications of that settled over me slowly.
Eight months ago.
Right around the time I'd first saved Patricia's number and never used it.
"The CPS visit is at two," I said.
"I know.
I'll be there."
"You don't have to—"
"I'll be there," she said again, and hung up.
Karen Shields arrived at five minutes to two.
She was younger than I expected — mid-thirties, with a calm, unhurried manner and a notepad she barely used.
Patricia sat beside me at the kitchen table.
My brother had taken Lily to the backyard.
Karen asked me to walk her through the previous evening.
I did.
She asked about Sandra's whereabouts.
I told her what I knew.
She asked whether this was the first incident I was aware of.
I told her it was the first I could prove.
She nodded and wrote something down.
Then she asked to speak with Lily alone, outside, if that was all right.
I watched through the kitchen window as Karen sat on the edge of the porch steps and talked with my daughter.
Lily started out stiff, arms crossed, eyes down.
After a few minutes she sat down beside Karen.
After a few more, she was talking — not just answering, but talking, the way she used to talk to me before I started traveling so much.
At one point she said something and Karen wrote it down.
At another point, Lily looked toward the window — directly at me, though I wasn't sure she could see me clearly — and then looked back at Karen and kept talking.
Patricia touched my arm lightly.
"Don't watch.
It makes her feel observed."
I stepped back from the window.
Twenty minutes later, Karen came inside alone.
"Your daughter is articulate and consistent," she said.
"The account she gave me matches the medical report and matches what you've described." She paused.
"I'm recommending supervised contact only between Lily and her mother until the investigation is complete.
That means your wife cannot be alone with Lily."
"What if Sandra comes back to the house?"
"That's a matter for the courts at this point.
I'd recommend filing for a temporary protective order today." She looked at Patricia.
"You'll know the process."
"We'll file this afternoon," Patricia said.
Karen gathered her notepad.
At the door, she paused.
"Mr.
Calloway.
Your daughter told me something I want you to know."
I waited.
"She said she'd been wanting to tell you for a long time.
She said she didn't think you'd believe her." Karen held my gaze.
"She said the reason she finally told you last night was because she decided that even if you didn't believe her, she needed to try."
The door closed behind her.
I stood in the hallway for a moment.
Then Sandra's name lit up my phone.
I didn't answer.
She called twice more before the text came through.
*I know about the CPS visit.
My attorney says you orchestrated this.
May you like
We're filing a counter-complaint.
By tomorrow morning, you're going to look like the problem — not me.*
