Chapter 6: The Deposit
I called Nolan as soon as Lauren left.
He arrived at my house forty minutes later.
He came through the front door and I could see from the way he moved that he hadn't slept.
He kissed the top of his daughter's head in the hallway, ruffled his son's hair, told them both he'd be back in a few minutes, and followed me into the kitchen.
I told him everything.
The realtor.
The plan to sell the house.
The word she had used — *visit*.
And last, the deposit.
He sat very still through all of it.
When I finished, he didn't say anything for a long moment.
He looked at the table.
Then he looked up at me.
"How long has she had this planned?"
"Lauren thinks since before the engagement."
He made a sound that wasn't quite a laugh.
"I need to see the school," he said.
"The name.
The paperwork."
"Lauren said she'd send you what she has."
He nodded.
He pulled out his phone, looked at it, set it face-down on the table.
"I confronted her this morning," he said.
"Before I came here."
"What did she say?"
"She said Lauren was a jealous person who had always wanted to cause problems.
She said the messages were taken out of context.
She said I was letting my mother manipulate me." He said it flatly, without heat.
"She cried.
She said she loved those kids.
She said she'd been trying so hard and nobody gave her credit for it."
"And?"
"And I asked her about the deposit."
I watched his face.
"She didn't know I knew," he said.
"She went very quiet.
Then she said it wasn't a deposit, it was just an inquiry, just a brochure request, she'd never actually committed to anything." He paused.
"Then she said that maybe a structured environment would actually be good for them.
That she'd only been thinking about what was best for the children."
"She pivoted."
"She pivoted." He picked up his phone again, turned it over.
"Mom, I have a lawyer.
From the business.
I called him this morning before I came.
He's going to look at the house title, the marriage agreement, all of it."
"Good."
"If she's already contacted a realtor about a property that's in my name, that's not nothing."
"No," I said.
"It's not."
He stood up.
Walked to the kitchen window and stood with his back to me for a moment, looking out at the yard where the kids used to play before the move.
"She painted over their handprints," he said quietly.
"In the hallway.
The ones they made with their mom.
I didn't notice until two weeks after it was done." He turned around.
"She told me it was an accident.
That she hadn't realized what they were."
The handprints.
I remembered them.
Red and blue and green, pressed flat against the cream wall, each one labeled in their mother's handwriting.
*Lily, age 5.
Owen, age 3.*
"I believed her," Nolan said.
He didn't say anything else.
He didn't need to.
His phone lit up on the table.
A message from a number he didn't recognize.
He picked it up and read it.
His expression shifted.
"It's from the school," he said slowly.
"They're confirming a site visit.
May you like
For next Thursday." He looked up.
"Scheduled under my name."
