Chapter 6: His Version
My sister's name is Carol.
She arrived in eleven minutes, which meant she'd driven faster than she should have.
She sat across from me in the same seat Jessica had just left.
She didn't say anything at first.
She read through the bank statements slowly, turning each page with the careful attention of someone who used to work in insurance and knows exactly what financial irregularities look like.
"How much?" she asked.
I told her.
She set the papers down.
"Sarah.
This isn't a man who got confused.
This is a man who was building an exit."
"I know."
"He was going to leave you with nothing.
Or as close to nothing as he could manage before you noticed."
"I know."
"Does he know that you know?"
"Not yet."
Carol looked at me steadily.
"You need a lawyer today.
Not tomorrow.
Today."
I nodded.
"I have a name.
A friend of Melanie's.
She handles family law."
"Call her now.
From here.
Before you go home."
I called.
The lawyer's name was Patricia Hale.
Her assistant put me through inside five minutes, which felt like a small mercy.
I explained the situation in as few words as possible — the affair, the party, the documents, the account.
Patricia listened without interrupting.
"Don't move anything from your joint accounts," she said.
"Don't confront him about the financial documents yet.
Don't give him any indication that you have them.
Can you do that?"
"Yes," I said.
"How soon can you come in?"
"This afternoon."
"Two o'clock," she said.
"Bring everything Jessica gave you."
I hung up.
Carol was watching me.
"Good," she said.
I drove home.
Tom's car was in the driveway.
I sat outside for a moment before going in.
He was in the living room, on his laptop.
He looked up when I came in, and his expression did something careful — not quite warm, not quite guilty.
Somewhere managed.
"Where were you?" he asked.
"Coffee with Carol," I said.
Which was true enough.
He nodded.
"I've been thinking.
About what I said last night.
About us." He closed the laptop.
"I think we should try counseling.
I think we owe it to Emma to at least try."
I set my bag down.
"Maybe."
"I mean it, Sarah.
Last night was — I know how it looked.
But I want to fix this."
He was watching my face carefully.
Looking for something.
I didn't know what signal he was hoping to read.
"Let me think about it," I said.
He seemed to relax slightly.
"That's fair.
That's all I'm asking."
I went upstairs, changed out of my clothes, and sat on the edge of the bed.
Through the floor I could hear him moving around in the kitchen.
The sound of the refrigerator opening.
A cabinet.
My phone buzzed.
A text from a number I didn't recognize — different from Jessica's.
*Sarah.
This is Daniel Marsh.
I'm Tom's attorney.
Tom has asked me to reach out to discuss a possible separation agreement.
He believes a collaborative approach would be best for your daughter.
Please call me at your earliest convenience.*
I read it twice.
He'd called a lawyer before I'd even come home.
While he was downstairs talking about counseling and fixing things and owing it to Emma, he had already spoken to an attorney about a separation agreement.
I forwarded the message to Patricia Hale with three words: *He moved first.*
Her reply came back in four minutes: *See you at two.
Don't respond to his attorney.*
I put my phone in my pocket and went back downstairs.
Tom was making lunch.
He'd made enough for two.
"Hungry?" he asked.
"A little," I said.
I sat at the table.
I watched him move around the kitchen — the same kitchen, the same motions, the same man I had shared a life with for nine years — and I understood for the first time that I had never really known what was happening behind his eyes.
He set a plate in front of me.
"Thank you," I said.
He sat down across from me and smiled.
May you like
It almost reached his eyes.
Almost.
