Chapter 6: Sonia
The room went very still.
Carol's hand found my arm.
Diane had already leaned forward, her pen moving.
"You were married to Daniel," I said.
"For two years," Sonia said.
"We divorced four years ago.
I signed a settlement agreement that included a non-disclosure clause.
I'm not supposed to contact anyone connected to him." A pause.
"I'm contacting you anyway."
"Why now?"
"Because I found out you were pregnant.
A mutual acquaintance.
And because—" She stopped.
Started again.
"Because I spent three months trying to convince myself that what happened to me was my fault.
That I was too sensitive.
Too emotional.
Too difficult." Another pause.
"I don't want you to spend three months doing that."
My throat tightened.
"How did you get my number?" I asked.
"Dr.
Webb gave it to me.
He was my doctor too.
He remembered me when your sister-in-law showed up at his door.
He called me the same night he called you."
Diane was writing steadily.
"Sonia," I said.
"The prenuptial agreement.
Did you have one?"
"Yes.
Gerald drafted it.
I signed without independent counsel because Daniel told me it was routine." Her voice was completely flat.
"The conduct clause.
Did he explain it to you the same way?"
"He said it was to protect both of us."
"It isn't," she said.
"I can tell you exactly what it does.
I had a solicitor review it after the divorce, when it was too late to matter.
The conduct clause is written so that almost anything can be defined as damaging conduct.
Raising your voice.
Leaving the house without permission.
Speaking to certain people.
Contacting his family without approval." A pause.
"It's written to make you the one in breach.
No matter what he does."
Carol stood up and walked to the window.
Her back was to us but I could see her shoulders.
"Sonia," Diane said.
"My name is Diane.
I'm a family solicitor and I'm representing this woman.
Would you be willing to provide a written account of your experience?
I understand you have an NDA.
But an NDA cannot legally prevent you from reporting crjme or from giving evidence in proceedings involving ongoing harm."
A long silence.
"He told me it could," Sonia said.
"He was wrong.
Or he lied to you.
Both are possible."
Another silence.
"If I do this," Sonia said slowly, "Gerald will come after me.
He has before."
"I know," Diane said.
"I'm going to ask you to trust me anyway.
And I'm going to ask you to write down everything you remember, tonight, while it's fresh, and send it to me directly.
Not through anyone else."
"What happens after that?"
"After that," Diane said, "we make it very difficult for Gerald to come after anyone."
Sonia was quiet for a long moment.
"He kept a dog kennel," she said finally.
"In the back garden.
He told me it was for a dog they were planning to get."
I closed my eyes.
"They never got a dog," I said.
"No," Sonia said.
"They never did."
Carol turned back from the window.
Her face was composed but her eyes were wet.
"I'll write it down," Sonia said.
"Everything.
Tonight."
"Thank you," Diane said.
We ended the call.
The three of us sat in the quiet office above the pharmacy for a moment without speaking.
Then Diane picked up her desk phone.
"I'm calling the family court now," she said.
"And then I'm calling a colleague who handles professional conduct complaints.
Because Gerald Webb didn't just draft a predatory agreement.
He notarized it, witnessed it, and collected a fee." She looked at me directly.
"He practiced law against you while representing himself as neutral.
That is a serious matter."
I looked at my hands in my lap.
Seven months pregnant.
Bruised wrists.
A split lip that had finally stopped bl00ding.
And for the first time since morning, something that felt almost like solid ground.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Not a text this time.
A voicemail.
From Gerald.
*I understand there may be some confusion this morning.
Daniel is very concerned about you and the baby.
I'd like to arrange a conversation — just the three of us — to clarify the terms of your agreement and find a sensible path forward.
I'm sure we can resolve this quietly.
Call me back before end of business today.*
I played it on speaker without being asked.
Diane listened to the whole thing.
When it ended, she looked at me over her glasses.
"He doesn't know about Sonia," she said.
"No."
May you like
"Good." She picked up her pen.
"Let's keep it that way."
