Chapter 5: The Woman Who Wrote the Email
I read the email three times before I called Robert.
"Someone knows something," I said.
"Someone always knows something.
Who sent it?"
"The address is a name I don't recognize.
Petra Walsh.
The email says Sean told her the marriage was already over.
That they'd been together for five months.
That he promised her — " I stopped.
"What did he promise her?"
"That she could move into the house once I was gone.
That the boys would adjust."
Robert was quiet for a moment.
"Forward it to me."
"Already done."
"Claire." His voice was careful.
"This changes the asset picture if it's provable.
A promise of shared property to a third party during a marriage — "
"I know what it means."
"Do you want to meet her?"
I looked at the email again.
There was a phone number at the bottom.
No explanation of why she was telling me.
No apology.
Just the number, and one last line.
*He told me you knew and were fine with it.
I believed him.
I shouldn't have.*
"She didn't know," I said.
"Apparently not."
I thought about that.
A woman who had been lied to by the same man, from a different angle.
She had been told I was a willing participant.
I had been told nothing at all.
"I'll call her," I said.
"Be careful."
"I'm always careful."
I called the number that evening, after the boys were in bed.
She answered on the second ring.
"Petra?" I said.
"Yes." Her voice was younger than I expected.
Careful.
"You're Claire."
"I am."
A silence.
Then: "I didn't know.
I want you to know that first.
He showed me a photo of the two of you and said you had an arrangement.
That you'd both agreed."
"He showed you a photo."
"From what looked like a holiday.
You were both smiling." A pause.
"I should have asked more questions."
"He's very good at making things seem settled," I said.
"Yes." Another pause.
"I'm sorry.
I know that doesn't fix anything."
"Why did you write to me?"
She took a breath.
"Because last week he told me he needed more time.
That things were getting complicated.
That I should be patient." Her voice tightened slightly.
"I've been patient for five months.
And then I started thinking about what patient was actually costing me."
"What do you want, Petra?"
"Nothing from you.
I want nothing from you." She said it quickly, clearly.
"I wrote because you deserved to know.
And because — " She stopped.
"Because?"
"Because I think he's been lying to both of us about the same things, and I think you're in a better position to do something about it than I am."
I sat with that for a moment.
"Would you be willing to put what you told me in writing?" I said.
"Dates.
What he said.
What he promised.
A signed statement."
A long pause.
"Yes," she said.
"I would."
"I'll have my lawyer contact you."
"Okay." Then, quietly: "Is he a good father?
To your boys?"
The question surprised me.
I thought about it honestly.
"He was," I said.
"I don't know what he is now."
She didn't say anything else.
Neither did I.
I ended the call and sat in the dark of the living room for a long time.
The house Sean had promised her.
The boys who would adjust.
I thought about the version of this story he had been telling — to Petra, to himself, maybe to others I didn't know about yet — and I felt something harden in me that had been soft for too long.
I picked up my phone and sent Robert one message.
*She'll sign a statement.
Call her tomorrow.*
His reply came back in under a minute.
*Already drafted the request.
Get some sleep.*
I put the phone down.
Looked at the ceiling.
Upstairs, one of the boys coughed in his sleep.
The old house settled.
The refrigerator hummed.
I didn't sleep for a long time.
May you like
And in the morning, when Sean came downstairs and asked if we could talk — really talk, he said, like adults — I told him yes.
What I didn't tell him was that Petra Walsh had already agreed to sign.
