Chapter 10: The Weight of It
Three weeks passed.
The deposition was scheduled.
Michael gave his formal statement and was released without charge — his cooperation, combined with the recordings he'd provided, had shifted his role from suspect to witness.
He called Emily once, briefly, to say he was sorry.
She listened.
She thanked him.
She didn't ask him to call again.
Jake's cooperation agreement moved forward.
He gave testimony for two full days.
Emily didn't attend.
Patricia kept her informed by phone.
Royce's attorney filed three separate motions to suppress the recordings.
All three were denied.
On a Tuesday morning, six weeks after the gender reveal, Patricia called.
"Royce Callum was formally charged this morning," she said.
"Criminal threat, extortion, and one count of racketeering.
The DA used the two prior civil cases as pattern evidence.
His attorney entered a not-guilty plea."
"What happens now?" Emily asked.
She was sitting at my kitchen table again, the same chair, the same mug of tea.
"He'll be held on bail — set high enough that his attorney is already appealing it.
Trial likely won't be for another year, possibly longer.
But the charges are filed.
That's the line."
"And Jake?"
A pause.
"Formal charge of one count of fraudulent misrepresentation.
Misdemeanor.
He'll likely receive probation and a fine.
His attorney has already begun the process."
Emily was quiet.
"Emily," Patricia said.
"I know that feels insufficient."
"It does," Emily said.
"But I understand it."
"The civil case is still open.
That's where you'll see more direct accountability."
"I know."
After the call, Emily sat for a while without speaking.
I made more tea.
Set a cup in front of her.
"I keep thinking," she said eventually, "about who I thought he was."
"Jake?"
"I thought I knew him.
I thought I could read him." She wrapped both hands around the mug.
"I'm a grown woman.
I've known him for six years.
And I missed all of it."
"He hid it carefully."
"I know.
But still." She looked up.
"How do you trust yourself after something like that?
How do you know you'll see it next time?"
I sat down across from her.
"I'm not sure you get a guarantee," I said.
"I think you just — you learn what you missed.
And you carry that forward."
She considered this.
"That's not very comforting."
"No," I agreed.
"But it's true."
She almost laughed.
Not quite.
But close.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
She glanced at it.
A message from her friend Dana — a photo of a tiny pair of yellow socks with ducks on them.
Underneath: *found these and couldn't help it.
hope that's okay.*
Emily looked at the photo for a long moment.
Then she typed back: *They're perfect.
Thank you.*
She set the phone down.
"I have an appointment next week," she said.
"To find out the gender.
The real one." A pause.
"I'd like you to come."
"I'll be there."
She nodded.
Picked up her tea.
Drank it this time.
Outside, the afternoon light was coming through the window at a low angle, the way it does in autumn, warm and a little tired.
It landed across the table between us.
Emily reached over and put her hand over mine.
May you like
She didn't say anything.
Neither did I.
