Chapter 7: The Locked Drawer
I didn't try to stop him.
I asked him to wait until I'd been discharged.
He waited.
Two days later, we brought Nora home.
We put her in the bassinet in our room, and Daniel kissed my forehead, and then he drove to his mother's house alone.
I asked him to call me when he got there.
He called forty minutes later.
"She's home," he said.
"Her car is in the driveway."
"Are you going in?"
"Yes."
I heard him knock.
I heard the door open.
I heard Margaret's voice, warm and careful, saying his name like nothing had happened.
"Daniel.
Come in."
"I'm not staying long," he said.
"I need to look at something in Dad's study."
A pause.
"Of course.
Do you want some—"
"No."
His footsteps.
A door opening.
The particular quiet of a room that hadn't changed in years.
"Daniel." Margaret's voice had followed him.
"Whatever Rebecca told you—"
"Did Dad leave a codicil?"
Silence.
"Where did you hear that?"
"Did he?"
"Your father's estate was settled years ago.
Your lawyer—"
"Margaret." His voice was quiet.
Absolute.
"Did my father leave a codicil to his will that you did not disclose."
A longer silence.
"It was complicated," she said finally.
I closed my eyes.
"Where is it?" Daniel said.
"Daniel, if you'd just let me explain the context—"
"Where is it."
I heard a drawer.
A key.
The particular sound of old wood giving way.
Then nothing for a moment.
"It's here," Daniel said.
To me, not to her.
"It's real."
"Daniel, your father wrote that when he was ill.
He wasn't thinking clearly.
He was frightened you'd be alone.
He loved Rebecca.
He thought—"
"He thought I'd want to know," Daniel said.
"That's what he thought.
And you took that from me."
"I was protecting you."
"From what?
From my own father's wishes?
From knowing what he left me?"
"From being trapped," Margaret said.
Her voice shifted.
Harder now.
"That clause would have put pressure on you.
It would have made you feel obligated.
I didn't want you making decisions about your marriage based on money."
"So you made the decision for me."
"I was your mother."
"You hid a legal document for four years." His voice didn't rise.
That was almost worse.
"You used it to manipulate Rebecca into thinking she was owed something.
You used it to justify everything you did.
And you never once told me it existed."
"I was going to tell you—"
"When?"
She didn't answer.
"When, Margaret?
When were you going to tell me?"
"When the time was right."
"The time was right four years ago.
The time was right when I started seeing someone new.
The time was right before I got married.
The time was right before my daughter was born." Each sentence landed separately.
"There was never going to be a right time, because you were never going to tell me."
"That's not fair."
"I'm taking the document."
"Daniel—"
"I'm taking it to my lawyer.
And then I'm going to find out what was in it and what it means and what you cost me by hiding it.
And then I'll decide what to do next."
"You're making a mistake."
"I made mistakes.
Trusting you to be honest with me.
Believing you when you said you'd stopped calling Rebecca.
Thinking you could be in my daughter's life without doing exactly this."
A pause.
"You're going to keep her from me." Margaret's voice cracked for the first time.
"My own grandchild."
"I'm going to protect my family," Daniel said.
"That's what I'm going to do."
I heard him walk back through the house.
The front door opened.
Closed.
His footsteps on the path.
Then his voice, quieter now.
"I have it," he said.
"I'm coming home."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"Drive carefully," I said.
He was quiet for a moment.
"She's crying," he said.
"I could hear her through the door."
I didn't say anything.
"I don't know if that's real," he said.
"I don't know anymore what's real with her."
"Come home," I said.
"We'll figure out the rest tomorrow."
He hung up.
I looked at Nora in the bassinet.
She was awake, staring at the ceiling with the unfocused concentration of a newborn encountering the world for the first time.
My phone buzzed.
A text from a number I didn't recognize.
*This is Margaret.
I got your number from Daniel's phone a long time ago.
May you like
Please don't let him do this.
You don't know what you're tearing apart.*
