Chapter 11: The Morning After
Patrice filed the emergency protective order at 8:15 the next morning.
By 9:40, it had been granted.
She called me while I was still in my kitchen, second cup of coffee in hand.
"The judge reviewed the audio recordings and the financial documentation," she said.
"Combined with the prior incident report involving Susan Mercer — which I was able to pull from court records — and the text messages he sent to you, it was straightforward." A pause.
"He's been served."
I set my cup down.
"How did he react?"
"His attorney called me twenty minutes after service.
Very calm.
Very professional.
Said his client was blindsided and that there must be a misunderstanding." She let that sit for a moment.
"I told him the recordings were seventeen folders deep and that we had a corroborating witness from a prior incident.
He asked for time to consult."
"What did you say?"
"I said the protective order was already in place and that consulting wasn't going to change that." Another pause.
"He'll try to negotiate.
They always do at this stage."
"What does Carol want?"
"Carol wants out.
Fully.
Divorce, full custody of Danny, and she wants the financial control documented for the asset division." Patrice's voice was measured.
"She's not angry.
She's clear.
There's a difference, and it's a better place to be in legally."
I looked out the window.
Garrett's car was gone from the driveway.
The house sat quiet and closed.
"Has he tried to contact her?"
"Fourteen times since last night.
All blocked.
Two of them were from the second phone number — the one he used to text you.
That number is now part of the evidence file."
"He texted me again last night," I said.
"After she left."
"Screenshot it and send it to me."
"Already done."
A brief silence.
"You're good at this," Patrice said.
"I've had practice," I said.
Same thing I'd told Carol.
At 11:00, Danny's school number texted me.
*Mom says thank you.
Ruth made pancakes.
I had three.*
I read it twice.
Then I typed back: *Tell her we're not done yet.
But the hard part is over.*
His reply: *She knows.
She said to tell you — she baked another one.*
I stared at that for a moment.
*Another pie?*
*Yeah.
She said she had the recipe memorized.
She made it this morning at Ruth's.
She said this one you can actually eat.*
I laughed.
Out loud, alone in my kitchen, the kind of laugh that comes from somewhere deep and releases something you didn't know you were still holding.
I was still smiling when my doorbell rang.
I went to the front door and looked through the peephole.
Garrett.
He was in different clothes than yesterday.
Casual now — no jacket, no tie.
He looked like a man who had decided to try a different approach.
I didn't open the door.
"I know you're home," he said through the door.
His voice was pleasant.
Conversational.
"I just want to talk.
Neighbor to neighbor."
I took out my phone and opened the voice memo app.
Hit record.
"There's a protective order in place," I said through the door.
"You're not supposed to be here."
"That's a misunderstanding.
Carol's not thinking clearly.
She does this sometimes — she gets overwhelmed and makes decisions she regrets." A pause.
"I'm not angry.
I just want to understand what she told you."
"She told me the truth," I said.
Silence on the porch.
"Whatever she showed you," he said, and the pleasantness had thinned slightly, like paint wearing off, "you're only getting one side."
"I got seventeen folders," I said.
"And a statement from Susan Mercer."
The porch went very quiet.
When he spoke again, the pleasantness was gone entirely.
"You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into," he said.
"Maybe not," I said.
"But I have everything on record.
Including this conversation."
Another silence.
Longer.
Then the sound of footsteps leaving the porch.
I stopped the recording, labeled it with the date and time, and sent it to Patrice before his car had finished backing out of my driveway.
Her reply came in forty seconds.
May you like
*Violation of the protective order.
I'm calling the court now.*
