Chapter 4: The Number I Didn't Recognize
I stared at the message for a long time.
My first instinct was to delete it.
Block the number and go to bed and deal with one catastrophe at a time.
I had enough truth for one day.
I had more than enough.
But the word *more* sat in my chest like a splinter.
*There's more than what he told you today.*
I typed back: *Who is this?*
Three dots appeared.
Then stopped.
Then started again.
*My name is Carol.
I'm Diane's sister.
I know this is strange.
I'm sorry to contact you this way.
But Diane doesn't know I'm doing this, and I think you have a right to know what's actually been going on.*
I read it twice.
*How did you get my number?* I typed.
*Wesley's phone.
Diane had access to it for a while.
I copied your contact before she lost access.
I've been trying to decide whether to reach out for two months.*
I set the phone face-down on the table.
I looked at the baby monitor.
The little green light blinked steadily.
I picked the phone back up.
*What do you mean, more?*
The reply took four minutes.
I watched the clock on the microwave.
*Diane isn't the only one.
There was someone before her.
A woman named Petra.
That ended about a year before Diane.
And there are financial things — accounts Wesley opened that I don't think you know about.
Diane mentioned them once when she was upset.
She said he told her the money was for "starting over." I don't know what that means exactly.
But I thought you should.*
My hand was completely still on the table.
*Why are you telling me this?* I typed.
*If Diane is your sister—*
*Because Diane thinks he's going to leave you for her.
He's been telling her that for eight months.
And I've watched my sister rearrange her whole life around that promise.* A pause.
Then: *I don't think he's going to.
I think he's been lying to both of you.
And I think you both deserve better than that.*
I didn't respond right away.
I got up.
Filled a glass of water.
Drank half of it standing at the sink.
Looked out the window at the dark backyard where, just that afternoon, my daughters had been standing in their pink dresses waiting for the photographer to count to three.
I went back to the table.
*Can we meet?* I typed.
*Yes,* Carol replied.
*I was hoping you'd ask.*
We agreed on a coffee shop two towns over, three days from then.
Neutral ground.
Somewhere neither of us would be recognized.
I put the phone down and finally let myself cry.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just quietly, at the kitchen table, with my hands flat on the wood and my forehead bowed.
When I stopped, I wiped my face and went to check on the girls.
All three were asleep.
My oldest had kicked her blanket to the floor.
I picked it up and tucked it back around her.
She stirred but didn't wake.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at all three of them in the dark.
Then I went back to the kitchen, opened my laptop, and typed the name of a family law attorney into the search bar.
I didn't call that night.
But I wrote the number down on a piece of paper and folded it into my wallet.
Wesley came home at eleven.
I heard his key in the lock, his footsteps in the hall.
He stopped outside the kitchen.
"You're still up," he said.
"Yes."
He stood in the doorway.
He looked tired.
He looked like he expected me to say something.
I closed the laptop.
"The girls are asleep," I said.
"You can take the guest room."
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
"Okay," he said quietly.
He walked down the hall.
I heard the guest room door click shut.
I sat there another hour.
Then I went to bed, lay down on my side of the mattress, and stared at the ceiling until the room began to lighten.
May you like
I had three days until I met Carol.
And I had a feeling that whatever she told me was going to change the shape of everything I thought I already knew.
