Chapter 7: What the Letter Proves
Our lawyer's name was Donna Ferris.
James had used her for a contract dispute two years earlier and trusted her.
She met us at her office the morning after Sylvia's visit, while Nora slept in the car seat we'd bought at seven in the morning from a pharmacy that opened early.
Donna read Carol's letter twice.
She set it down on the desk and looked at us over her glasses.
"This is handwritten and undated," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"Do you know when she wrote it?"
"No.
The hospital said it came in with her bag.
She must have packed it before she went in."
"So potentially within days of delivery.
Possibly hours." Donna tapped the letter once with one finger.
"The opposing party is claiming Carol changed her mind three weeks before delivery.
If this letter was written after those messages, it supersedes them.
If it was written before, Sylvia's attorney will argue Carol changed her mind again."
"Can we date it?" James asked.
"Handwriting analysis can sometimes narrow a window.
Paper and ink testing is expensive and not always conclusive." She paused.
"What we need is something that places this letter after those messages.
A witness.
A phone call.
Anything Carol said to anyone in those final weeks that aligns with what she wrote here."
"Her cousin," I said.
"James's cousin.
He spoke to Carol."
James nodded slowly.
"He said she mentioned a woman.
But I don't know what else she said."
"Call him today," Donna said.
"Find out everything he remembers.
Find out if she said anything about the letter, about her wishes, about you specifically." She looked at me.
"She wrote your name on that envelope, Rachel.
That's not nothing.
But we need to build a picture of her state of mind in those final weeks."
"Sylvia has text messages," James said.
"I know.
Her attorney will enter them.
We need to show that whatever Carol said in those messages, she made a final decision that pointed back to you." Donna leaned forward.
"The court is going to look at one thing above everything else.
What is in the best interest of this child.
Sylvia is in her late sixties with no established relationship with Nora.
You have a stable home, three children, and a letter written in Carol's own hand asking you by name."
"That should be enough," I said.
"It's a strong foundation.
But Sylvia will argue blood.
She'll argue Carol's final expressed wish.
She'll argue that Nora deserves to know her biological heritage." Donna looked at us both.
"It won't be fast.
And it won't be clean."
Nora made a small sound from the car seat on the floor.
All three of us looked at her.
She settled again without waking.
"One more thing," Donna said.
She picked up a page from the file in front of her.
"Sylvia Crane has a record of a civil dispute from eleven years ago.
A custody matter involving another family member.
She lost.
The judge's notes describe her as — " Donna read from the page — " 'persistent in pursuing legal remedy beyond what the child's welfare reasonably required.' "
James looked at me.
"She's done this before," he said.
"She attempted it before," Donna said carefully.
"That's different.
But it tells us something about how she operates." She closed the file.
"She's going to push hard.
She's going to make this uncomfortable.
And at some point, she may try to make you an offer."
"What kind of offer?" I asked.
"Visitation.
A shared arrangement.
Something that gives her access while appearing to compromise." Donna looked at me steadily.
"When that happens, do not agree to anything without calling me first."
We left her office with a folder of paperwork and a list of things to do.
James called his cousin from the parking lot.
I sat in the passenger seat with Nora's car seat beside me and listened to James's half of the conversation.
"She said what?" A long pause.
"When was this?
Are you sure?" Another pause.
"I need you to write that down exactly as you remember it.
Can you do that today?"
He hung up and turned to me.
"She called him," he said.
"Ten days before she went into the hospital.
She told him she'd made a decision.
She said she'd written it down so there would be no confusion."
"She told him about the letter?"
"She didn't describe it.
But she said she'd written it down." His voice was careful, precise.
"She said, and I'm quoting him — she said, *'I know what I want for her.
I just need Rachel to say yes.' "*
The parking lot was quiet around us.
"She was still asking me," I said.
"Ten days before the end.
She was still asking me."
"Yes," James said.
May you like
I looked at Nora.
"Then let's make sure the court hears that," I said.
