Chapter 5: What Diane Did Next
Douglas Hale filed a counter-petition on Monday morning.
Carol called me before I'd finished my first cup of coffee.
"Diane is claiming you @ssaulted her," she said.
"She's alleging that you struck her deliberately, that her hip injury is the result of your @ttack, and that you are an unstable and dangerous presence in Lily's life."
I set my cup down.
"She's also claiming," Carol continued, "that the bruises in your exhibit photographs are consistent with normal childhood activity and that your documentation of them represents a pattern of obsessive and paranoid behavior."
"She's going after my mental health."
"She is.
Hale is good at this.
He's going to try to reframe the entire three years—your documentation, your silence, your preparation—as evidence of instability rather than evidence of harm." A pause.
"He filed for grandparent visitation rights at the same time."
"Can she get that?"
"In Illinois, grandparent visitation is an uphill case when a fit parent objects.
But it forces us to fight on two fronts." Carol's voice was steady.
"It's a pressure tactic.
She wants you scared and distracted."
"I'm not scared."
"Good.
Then here's what we do."
---
What we did was call Dr.
Howard.
He agreed to provide a formal declaration within forty-eight hours.
His notes were precise: the location of the injury, the shape of the mark, the child's reaction to being touched in the days following.
He had seen enough pediatric injuries to know the difference between a fall and an open-handed strike, and he said so in writing.
We also called the five relatives who had been watching Brooke's livestream.
Three of them didn't answer.
One of them—a cousin named Gary who lived in Indianapolis—sent a text saying he didn't want to get involved in family business.
The fifth was a woman named Helen, Jason's father's younger sister, who had been watching from her home in Phoenix.
"I saw everything," Helen told me when I called.
"I've been waiting for someone to call me for three days."
She gave a written statement the following afternoon.
Her account matched Ruth's frame by frame.
Two witnesses.
A physician's declaration.
Thirty-eight exhibits.
And twelve minutes and forty seconds of video.
Hale's counter-petition began to look like what it was.
---
But on Wednesday, Diane moved again.
Carol called at noon.
Her voice had a different quality—not alarmed, but sharpened.
"Hale has filed a motion to exclude the video," she said.
"He's arguing that the livestream recording was obtained without Diane's knowledge or consent and that using it violates Illinois eavesdropping statute."
"Can he do that?"
"He can file the motion.
Whether it succeeds is another matter.
Illinois eavesdropping law has specific carve-outs for recordings made in semi-public settings with multiple voluntary participants.
Brooke chose to broadcast that dinner to an audience.
Ruth was part of that audience." Carol paused.
"But it will cost us a hearing, and it will delay the timeline."
"How long?"
"Three to four weeks for the motion to be heard."
Three to four weeks.
Lily waking up crying.
The yellow mark fading but not gone.
Jason texting through blocked numbers asking to see her.
"What does Diane gain from the delay?" I asked.
"Time to build her own narrative.
Time for the counter-petition to get traction.
Time for people to forget the emotional impact of what happened and start seeing it as a legal dispute between two parties with competing claims." A pause.
"And one more thing."
"What?"
"Hale subpoenaed your medical records this morning.
Three years of them."
The kitchen was very quiet.
"He's looking for a psychiatric history," I said.
"He's looking for anything.
Anxiety medication, therapy notes, a single visit to a doctor where you described feeling overwhelmed." Carol's voice was careful.
"Emily.
Is there anything in those records I should know about before Hale finds it?"
I thought about the appointment I'd made two years ago.
The one I'd kept for six weeks before stopping because Diane had started timing how long I was away from the apartment.
"I saw a therapist briefly," I said.
"About two years ago.
Six sessions.
I stopped because—" I stopped.
"I stopped."
"What did you discuss in those sessions?"
"The marriage.
Diane.
Feeling isolated."
"Did you describe any incidents of harm to Lily?"
"Lily was four months old.
There was nothing to describe yet."
"Did you describe any thoughts of harming yourself or anyone else?"
"No."
"Did the therapist express any concern about your fitness as a parent?"
"No.
She told me I was handling an extremely difficult situation with unusual clarity."
A pause.
Then Carol said: "I'm going to contact that therapist today and request a voluntary statement.
If she's willing to provide one, it turns Hale's subpoena into a gift." Another pause.
"What was her name?"
"Dr.
Sandra Okafor.
She was in Wicker Park."
"Good." I heard Carol writing.
"Emily, I want you to understand something.
Diane is doing exactly what people like her do when they are cornered.
She is expanding the battlefield.
She is trying to make this about you instead of about what she did to Lily." A beat.
"It won't work.
But you need to be prepared for it to get louder before it gets quieter."
I looked across the kitchen at Lily, who was sitting on the floor stacking plastic cups.
She placed one on top of another very carefully, her tongue between her teeth.
"I'm prepared," I said.
My phone buzzed with a second notification while I was still on the call.
A voicemail.
Douglas Hale's office number.
I didn't listen to it until Carol and I had finished.
When I did, it wasn't Hale's voice on the recording.
It was Diane's.
"Emily." Her voice was controlled, almost warm—the voice she used at dinner parties, the one that had fooled me for the first six months.
"I think we've both let this go further than it needed to go.
I'd like to meet.
Just the two of us.
No attorneys.
I think if we could sit down like adults, we could find a way through this that doesn't destroy Jason, doesn't destroy this family, and doesn't put Lily through a court process that will follow her for years." A pause.
"I'm her grandmother.
I love her.
Whatever you think of me, I love that child.
Call me back."
I listened to it twice.
Then I forwarded it to Carol with a single line: *She called me directly.
Isn't that a violation of the protective order?*
May you like
Carol's reply came in four minutes: *Yes.
It's Exhibit Forty.*
