Chapter 6: What Paul Knew
Paul chose a coffee shop near his workplace, a quiet place with small tables and enough background noise that no one would hear us.
He was already there when I arrived.
He had ordered two coffees and was turning his cup in slow circles on the table.
He looked like he hadn't slept.
I sat down.
He didn't say anything immediately.
He looked at the window, then at his hands, then at me.
"How's Lily?" he asked.
"She's safe.
She's with my brother."
He nodded.
"Good.
That's good."
"Paul."
He wrapped both hands around his cup.
"I've been trying to decide how to do this for two days."
"Just say it."
He looked up.
"Daniel isn't just some man Sandra met.
Mom found him on purpose.
She introduced them specifically.
She's been pushing this for over a year."
I waited.
"Sandra didn't want it at first.
I know that sounds like I'm defending her and I'm not.
But Mom — she had a reason.
She wanted Sandra out of your marriage.
And she wanted it done in a way that looked like Sandra's choice."
"Why?"
Paul exhaled slowly.
"Your house."
I went still.
"The house is in your name," he said.
"But when you and Sandra married, you added her to the deed.
Mom found out — I don't know how, some document she saw — that if Sandra initiated the divorce, depending on how it was filed, she might be entitled to a larger share.
Mom's been talking to someone.
Not a proper lawyer.
A friend of a friend who told her things that may not even be accurate.
But she got it into her head that if Sandra left you for someone else, and if you were the one who found out and walked away, the settlement would go differently than if you filed first."
He stopped.
The coffee cup turned another half circle.
"She was engineering it," I said.
"She was trying to." Paul's voice was low.
"I don't think she thought through what it would mean for Lily.
Or maybe she did and decided it didn't matter.
I can't tell you which one is true."
"And Sandra went along with it."
"Sandra went along with Daniel.
I don't know how much she understood about the rest.
I genuinely don't know." He met my eyes.
"I'm not asking you to feel sorry for her.
I'm just telling you what I know."
"How long have you known?"
He looked away.
"Six months."
The word sat between us.
"Six months," I said.
"I know."
"Lily was under that table for weeks, Paul.
She was eating from a dog bowl.
And you knew for six months and said nothing."
His jaw worked.
"I told Mom it had gone too far.
I told her twice.
She said I was being dramatic.
She said Lily was fine, children are resilient, it was temporary."
"She was three years old."
"I know." His voice cracked on the second word.
"I know.
And I'm sorry.
I'm telling you now because it's the only thing I can still do that means anything."
I sat with that for a moment.
"Is there anything else?" I asked.
"Anything you haven't told me."
He hesitated.
"Paul."
"Mom spoke to a man about the house.
About having Sandra's name carry more weight on the deed.
She asked about what it would take to have your name — reduced.
I don't know the legal term.
I don't fully understand what she was asking for.
But the man she spoke to wasn't a lawyer.
And the conversation happened in our house, and I heard it, and it scared me."
My hand was flat on the table.
I didn't move it.
"When was this?"
"Three weeks ago.
Right before you came home."
Three weeks ago.
The same week the bedroom camera was deregistered.
The same week Lily started being kept under the table.
"I need you to write down everything you just told me," I said.
"Names, dates, what you heard, where you heard it.
Everything."
"Will it go to a lawyer?"
"Yes."
He nodded slowly.
"Okay."
He pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and slid it across the table.
I looked at him.
"I wrote it last night," he said.
"I thought you'd ask."
I picked it up.
It was three pages, handwritten, dated, signed at the bottom.
I folded it carefully and put it in my jacket.
"Thank you," I said.
Paul looked out the window.
"Tell Lily I'm sorry.
May you like
She won't understand what for.
But tell her anyway."
