Chapter 5: What His Mother Said
It was the question I hadn't expected.
Not from her.
Elon's mother — Patricia — had always been polite to me in the careful way of someone who has decided not to commit.
She remembered my birthday.
She complimented my cooking.
She never once called me by my name without being prompted first.
And now she was sitting across from me, hands flat on the table, asking what I needed.
I took a breath.
"I need Elon out of the house by Monday," I said.
"I need the joint account frozen until the attorney sorts out the transfers.
And I need Sophie's health insurance to remain active and in my name."
Patricia nodded slowly.
"The house is in both your names?"
"Yes."
"Then he has no right to remove anything from it without your consent." She looked at her son.
"You will not remove anything from that house.
Do you understand me?"
Elon stared at her.
"Mom, you can't just—"
"I am not asking," she said.
The table was quiet.
Dana shifted her son to her other arm.
He had started to fuss — small, restless sounds.
She bounced him gently and he settled.
"I have a question," Dana said.
Her voice was careful.
"The money he transferred — is that something the bank can reverse?"
"Some of it," I said.
"The attorney thinks we can recover most of it, depending on what he spent it on."
Dana looked at Elon.
"Did you spend any of it on the apartment?"
Elon said nothing.
"Elon." Her voice changed.
Harder now.
"Did you spend my money on our apartment?
Money you took from your wife?"
"It wasn't—" He stopped.
"Say it," she said.
"Say what it was."
"It was complicated, Dana—"
"You told me that money came from a work bonus." She took one step toward the table.
"You showed me a deposit slip.
You said it was a bonus."
"I adjusted the—"
"You forged a deposit slip." Her voice was very flat.
"You took money from her account, and you showed me a fake document, and you told me it was a bonus."
The room absorbed that.
Elon's father picked up the folder again.
He turned to the third page.
He read something.
He set it down.
"The transfers started four months before Sophie was born," he said.
"Yes," I said.
"While you were pregnant."
"Yes."
He looked at his son for a long time.
Elon didn't look back.
"I want to ask you something," his father said.
"And I want you to think carefully before you answer." He leaned forward slightly.
"Did you ever intend to stay?"
The question landed in the room like something dropped from a height.
Elon's jaw moved.
"I don't know," he said finally.
Patricia made a sound.
She pressed two fingers to her lips and looked at the ceiling.
"You don't know," his father said.
"Things changed.
I was under a lot of pressure.
The job, the baby, everything happening at once—"
"She was on maternity leave," his father said.
"She was home with a newborn.
Alone.
Every night."
"I know that."
"Do you?"
Elon pushed back from the table again.
This time he stood fully.
"I need some air," he said.
"I can't do this right now, I need—"
"Sit down, Elon." His father's voice dropped even lower.
"I'm not going to just sit here and be—"
"You will sit down," his father said, "or you will walk out that door and I will not open mine to you again.
Those are your two choices.
Pick one."
Elon stood at the edge of the table.
Everyone watched him.
He sat down.
Dana exhaled.
I reached for my water glass and took a slow sip.
My hand was steady.
I was almost surprised by that.
My mother came back into the room from the hallway.
She had left Sophie upstairs.
She looked at the table, at the folder, at Dana and her son, at Elon's face.
She pulled out her chair and sat beside me.
"Is there anything left to eat?" she said quietly.
It was such an ordinary question that Patricia almost laughed.
It came out wrong — too sharp, too sudden — and she covered her mouth.
"There's pie," I said.
"Good," my mother said.
She reached over and cut herself a slice.
She set the knife down.
She looked at Elon.
"You have a beautiful daughter upstairs," she said.
"She has your chin.
I always thought that was sweet." She picked up her fork.
"What a shame."
Elon looked at the table.
"The attorney," Patricia said to me.
"Is she good?"
"She came recommended by three people I trust," I said.
"Good." Patricia folded her hands.
"Give me her name before you leave tonight.
I want to call her myself in the morning."
Elon looked up sharply.
"Why would you—"
"Because I have things to say that are separate from yours," Patricia said.
"And because I have been sitting at this table for twenty minutes understanding that I missed something I should have seen, and I intend to be useful now that I can."
Elon opened his mouth.
His father put a hand on the table between them.
"Not another word," he said.
"Not tonight."
Elon closed his mouth.
Outside, a car passed slowly.
Its headlights swept across the dining room wall and disappeared.
My phone lit up on the table.
A text from a number I didn't recognize.
*I know you had me come tonight.
I know you planned this.
I just want you to know — thank you.
And I'm sorry.
— D*
I turned the phone face-down.
I would answer her tomorrow.
Tonight, there was still one thing left to do.
I looked at Elon.
"I'd like you to leave now," I said.
He didn't argue.
That was the part that surprised me most.
He picked up his jacket from the back of his chair, and he walked to the front door, and he opened it, and he stepped out into the dark.
He didn't say goodbye to anyone.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Patricia stared at the closed door for a long moment.
Then she reached across the table and picked up the folder.
"I'll keep this tonight," she said.
"If that's all right."
"It is," I said.
She held it in both hands, carefully, like something that needed to be protected.
"He's going to try to call you tomorrow," she said.
"He's going to say things that sound reasonable."
"I know."
"Don't answer."
"I won't."
She nodded once.
Then she looked at Dana.
"Where are you staying tonight?"
Dana blinked.
"I — my apartment.
Why?"
"Is it safe?"
Dana hesitated just a moment too long.
Patricia stood up.
May you like
"You'll stay here," she said.
It was not a suggestion.
