Chapter 9: The Thing Rebecca Thought She Had
Patricia called on Monday morning with a question I hadn't expected.
"Linda, I need to ask you something directly, and I need you to answer honestly regardless of how it sounds."
"All right."
"When Daniel left — was there any period, even briefly, where the separation was unclear?
Any time where you were not certain whether the relationship was formally over?"
I understood what she was asking.
"No.
He left on a Tuesday in March.
He took his things.
He said he wasn't coming back.
He didn't come back."
"Was there any written communication between you after that?
Letters, anything?"
"One phone call.
When Ethan was nine.
That was all."
"And during the time you were together — were you married?"
"No.
We were together for four years.
Ethan was born in the third year.
We were never married."
Patricia was quiet for a moment.
"Rebecca's attorney made contact this morning.
They're suggesting that the nature of your relationship with Daniel was — their word — 'informal,' and that the birth certificate naming was done under pressure, not voluntarily."
I sat down.
"They're going to argue he was coerced into signing the birth certificate," I said.
"They're going to try.
They'll argue the declaration was accurate because his acknowledgment of paternity was never genuine or legally binding in the way a married father's would be." She paused.
"It's not a strong argument.
But it's the argument they have."
"What do we do?"
"We get ahead of it.
I want you to think carefully — is there anyone from that time who knew you both?
Who saw you together as a family?
Neighbors, friends, anyone who could speak to the nature of the relationship and Daniel's involvement with Ethan before he left?"
I closed my eyes.
There was one person.
Her name was Dot.
Dorothy Marsh.
She had lived in the apartment next to ours for all four years Daniel and I were together.
She had held Ethan as a newborn.
She had watched Daniel carry him on his shoulders in the parking lot.
She had been there the night Daniel left — she had heard it through the wall and knocked on my door afterward to make sure I was all right.
I had not spoken to Dot in fifteen years.
I had lost track of her when she moved to be closer to her daughter.
"There's someone," I told Patricia.
"I'll try to find her."
It took me three days and a call to an old neighbor who had kept in touch with Dot's daughter.
But on Thursday afternoon, I had a phone number.
Dot answered on the second ring.
Her voice was older but immediately warm.
"Linda.
My goodness.
It's been years."
"It has," I said.
"Dot, I need to ask you something.
And I need to know if you'd be willing to help."
I explained as much as I could without overwhelming her.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, there was a short silence.
"That man," she said, "carried that baby boy on his shoulders every Sunday morning for two years.
I saw it with my own eyes.
He chose to be that child's father.
And then he chose to walk away from it." Her voice was firm.
"You tell me where to sign and I'll sign it."
I thanked her.
I cried a little after I hung up, which I hadn't expected.
Patricia was pleased.
"A contemporaneous witness with direct personal observation is exactly what we need.
Rebecca's attorney will have a much harder time arguing coercion when there's someone who watched Daniel Whitmore voluntarily parent his son every Sunday morning."
We filed the initial claim the following week.
Three days after filing, Ethan's phone rang at eleven in the evening.
He didn't recognize the number.
He answered anyway.
The voice on the other end was a man's.
Older.
Slightly hoarse.
"Is this Ethan?" the voice said.
"Yes.
Who is this?"
May you like
A pause.
"This is Daniel."
