Chapter 8: What He Offered
Sandra called me on a Thursday, three weeks later.
"His new attorney reached out," she said.
"They want to talk settlement."
I was standing in the kitchen making Noah's lunch.
I put down the bread knife.
"What are they offering?"
"They started low.
Four hundred thousand, full release of all claims."
"Half the property value."
"Less than half, once you account for appreciation since transfer.
The property is currently valued at just over a million." A brief pause.
"I told them we'd consider it."
"We won't," I said.
"I know.
I wanted to hear you say it."
The counter-proposal went out the following Monday: full current valuation, plus restitution for the child support arrears calculated from the date of the divorce decree, plus legal fees.
Julian's attorney called it aggressive.
Sandra said that was fine.
The negotiation took eleven days.
I know because I kept a note in my phone — not obsessively, just a single line each day.
*Day 1.
Day 2.* The way you mark time when you're waiting for something that matters.
On day eight, Julian called me directly.
Sandra had advised me to route everything through her, but I picked up.
I'm not sure why.
Maybe I wanted to hear his voice when he had nothing left to perform for.
"This is going to ruin me," he said.
"Julian—"
"I'm not saying that to make you feel guilty.
I'm saying it because it's true.
The Bar investigation, the civil suit, the firm — Richard put me on administrative leave two weeks ago.
Did you know that?"
"No," I said.
"I didn't."
"I have nothing left to protect." His voice was flat.
Not angry.
Flat.
"I just want to know — was this what you wanted?
From the beginning?
Was this the plan?"
I sat down at the kitchen table.
"The plan," I said slowly, "was to have a marriage.
Then it was to survive the end of one.
Then it was to raise Noah without falling apart." I looked at the window.
"I didn't plan any of this, Julian.
Your mother did."
A long silence.
"I know," he said finally.
"I know she did."
"She loved you," I said.
"Diane told me she said that.
More than once."
He didn't answer for a moment.
"She was furious with me," he said.
"The last time I saw her.
March.
I didn't know Noah was there — I came to check on her and she sat me down at the kitchen table and she was furious.
Quiet.
The way she used to get when I was a kid and I'd done something she considered genuinely wrong, not just careless." His voice shifted slightly.
"She said, 'You have a son who is watching everything you do.
And right now he is learning what a man is.' "
I closed my eyes.
"She was right," he said.
"I know she was right."
"Then settle," I said.
"Give Noah what he was supposed to have.
That's all this ever needed to be."
Another silence.
Longer this time.
"My attorney will call Sandra tomorrow," he said.
He hung up.
May you like
I sat at the kitchen table for a while after that, in the quiet of the house, with the bread knife still on the counter and Noah's half-made lunch sitting on the cutting board.
Then I finished making his sandwich, put it in his bag, and went to pick him up from school.
