Chapter 10: What Derek Said
Derek's attorney requested a call.
Diane took it alone, as she always did, and called me afterward with her notes in front of her.
"He wants to settle," she said.
"His attorney used the word 'resolution.' That's attorney language for he knows he's losing and he wants a controlled exit."
"What are his terms?" I said.
"He wants joint legal custody," Diane said.
"Physical custody with you.
He's proposing unsupervised visitation every other weekend once Emily is six months old."
"Unsupervised," I said.
"That's his opening position," Diane said.
"Not my recommendation.
I told his attorney we would consider structured visitation with a review at twelve months.
They'll come back." A pause.
"He's also proposing to keep the Columbus house and buy out your share of the equity — which, given that the house was in his name, is actually an acknowledgment that you have a claim.
The financial records did that."
"How much equity?"
Diane gave me a number.
It wasn't a large number.
But it was real, and it was mine, and six months ago Derek had told me I had no claim to anything in that house.
"What about the joint account?" I said.
"He's proposing to split the current balance," Diane said.
"Which is lower than it should be, given the transfers we documented.
I've pushed back on that.
We're asking for a full accounting of the $4,200 transfer and the other withdrawals.
His attorney hasn't responded to that part yet."
"And Karen?" I said.
"Not part of this negotiation," Diane said.
"Her situation is separate.
The police report is moving forward regardless of what Derek agrees to in the divorce."
I was in Rachel's spare room.
Emily was asleep in the bassinet.
The afternoon light came through the curtain in a long pale stripe across the floor.
"Diane," I said.
"I want to speak with Derek directly.
Once.
Before we finalize anything."
A pause.
"That's not something I'd normally recommend," she said.
"I know," I said.
"But I need to hear him say something out loud.
Not through attorneys.
Not in a filing." I paused.
"I need him to say it to me."
Diane was quiet for a moment.
"What do you need him to say?" she asked.
"I need him to acknowledge Emily," I said.
"Not in a legal document.
To me.
That she exists.
That she was born.
That he knows what he did that night."
A long silence.
"I can arrange a call," Diane said finally.
"I'll be on the line.
His attorney will be on the line.
It will be brief and it will be recorded." A pause.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," I said.
The call happened two days later.
Derek's voice was different than I remembered.
Quieter.
The performance was gone — or most of it.
What was left sounded tired.
"Claire," he said.
"Derek," I said.
A silence.
"I heard she's healthy," he said.
"Emily."
"She is," I said.
Another silence.
"I should have been there," he said.
It was not an apology.
It was not enough.
But it was the first true sentence he had said to me in longer than I could remember.
"Yes," I said.
"You should have."
He didn't say anything else for a moment.
Then: "I didn't think you'd actually go."
"I know," I said.
"I thought you'd—" He stopped.
"I don't know what I thought."
"You thought I had nowhere to go," I said.
"You spent six years making sure of it."
He didn't deny it.
That silence was its own kind of answer.
"The settlement terms," I said.
"I'll review them with Diane.
But I want you to understand something, Derek.
Whatever we agree to on paper — Emily is going to know who showed up for her and who didn't.
Not because I'll tell her.
Just because that's how it works."
He said nothing.
"Okay," I said to Diane.
"I'm done."
Diane ended the call.
I set the phone down on the bed.
Emily was awake in the bassinet, looking up at me with her dark, patient eyes.
I picked her up and held her against my chest.
She made a small sound — not distress, just presence.
Just the small announcement of herself.
May you like
"I know," I said quietly.
"I know."
