Chapter 6: What the Attorney Found
Monday came the way difficult days always do — ordinary on the surface, the light through the kitchen window the same pale gold it always was, Sophie making her small waking sounds from the bassinet in the corner while I stood at the counter and waited for the coffee.
Elon had not called.
He had texted once, at 11:47 the night before: *We need to talk like adults.*
I had not replied.
My attorney's name was Ruth Calloway.
She was sixty-one, wore reading glasses on a beaded chain, and had the manner of someone who had heard every version of every story and was not surprised by any of them.
I had found her through a colleague at the hospital where I'd worked before my leave.
Two other women I trusted had used her.
Both had come out the other side intact.
I sat across from her at 9 a.m.
with Sophie in the carrier against my chest.
"He sent a text," I said.
Ruth looked at me over her glasses.
"Did you reply?"
"No."
"Good.
Don't." She opened the folder on her desk — a copy of the same documents Dana had brought to the dinner.
"I've gone through the transfers.
Fourteen months, as you said.
The total is thirty-one thousand, four hundred dollars."
I had known the number.
Seeing it said aloud in a quiet office made it feel different.
"Can we recover it?"
"Most of it.
The transfers were from a joint account, which complicates his position considerably.
He cannot claim he had no access — he did.
But he also cannot claim you authorized withdrawals of that size for personal use without documentation, and there is none." She set down her pen.
"He forged a deposit slip to show a third party.
That is a separate matter."
"Dana."
"Yes.
She may have her own claim.
That's for her attorney to determine." Ruth folded her hands.
"What I want to talk about today is the custody arrangement you proposed."
Sophie made a sound against my chest.
I pressed my palm to her back.
"I want primary custody," I said.
"With structured visitation for him, supervised initially."
"On what grounds for supervision?"
"He lied about Sophie's paternity to another woman.
He drained our savings while I was on maternity leave.
He was absent for the first three months of her life in every way that matters."
Ruth wrote something.
"Those are grounds for a strong primary custody argument.
Supervised visitation is harder to obtain without documented risk to the child, but given the financial deception and the pattern of absence, a judge will likely look favorably on your position."
"I don't want to punish him," I said.
"I want Sophie to be safe and stable."
Ruth looked at me.
"Those two things are not in conflict."
"I know.
I just wanted to say it out loud."
She nodded.
"There's one more thing." She turned to the second page of her notes.
"The joint account isn't the only account."
I looked up.
"There's a second account.
Opened eighteen months ago.
His name only." She slid a printed page across the desk.
"He's been depositing into it regularly.
Smaller amounts — nothing that would trigger a review.
But over eighteen months, it totals just over nineteen thousand dollars."
I looked at the page.
"He was building an exit fund," I said.
"That is my read, yes."
I sat with that for a moment.
Sophie shifted against me.
I adjusted the carrier strap.
"He planned this before Dana," I said.
"Before the baby.
Before any of it."
"The first deposit was made two months after your wedding," Ruth said.
Two months after our wedding.
I thought about the night we got back from our honeymoon.
How he had seemed distracted.
How I had told myself it was the adjustment, the return to routine, the ordinary flatness that follows something bright.
I had been wrong about what it was.
"What do I need to do?" I said.
"Sign the filing authorization today.
I'll move to freeze both accounts pending the divorce proceedings.
His attorney — whoever he chooses — will receive notice by Wednesday."
"And the house?"
"You stay.
He does not re-enter without your consent and written notice.
I'll have that order drafted by end of day."
I signed where she indicated.
Three pages.
Each one a door closing on something.
When I stood to leave, Ruth walked me to the door.
"One more thing," she said.
"He'll make an offer before this goes to a hearing.
They almost always do.
It will sound generous."
"What should I do?"
"Call me before you respond to anything." She held the door open.
"Don't let him negotiate directly with you.
That's what he's counting on."
I stepped into the hallway.
Sophie was asleep again, her weight warm and even against my chest.
My phone buzzed.
Not Elon this time.
Patricia.
*He went to the house this morning.
I'm sorry — I didn't know he would.
He said he only took some clothes.
Please check and let me know if anything is missing.
I'll make it right.*
I turned around and walked back to Ruth's office door.
I knocked once.
She opened it.
"He entered the house this morning," I said.
Ruth's expression didn't change.
She stepped back to let me in.
"Then we file for the protective order today," she said.
May you like
"Not Wednesday.
Today."
