Chapter 5: The Things She Said When She Thought She Was Winning
Victoria's attorney arrived in twenty-two minutes, not ten.
His name was Gerald Foss, and he came in straightening his tie, slightly breathless, carrying a briefcase that looked like it had been grabbed in a hurry.
He was a compact man in his sixties with careful eyes that moved around the room and catalogued everything before he said a word.
Mark had come back inside by then.
He was standing near the fireplace with his coat finally off, a glass of water in his hand that he hadn't touched.
I was still on the sofa with Thomas, who had woken up and was sitting quietly in my lap, turning a small wooden block over and over in his hands.
Dr.
Hale had her folder open on the coffee table.
Gerald Foss looked at the folder.
He looked at me.
He looked at Dr.
Hale.
"My client would like a moment alone with her husband," he said.
"No," Mark said.
Gerald Foss adjusted his tie again.
"Mr.
Calloway, I understand emotions are running high, but—"
"There are no emotions running high," Mark said.
"I'm very calm.
And the answer is no."
Victoria was seated in the armchair nearest the window.
She had composed herself during the twenty-two minutes — the mask was back, lighter this time, more careful, but back.
She looked at her attorney and gave a small nod that said: handle this.
"The recordings your housekeeper made," Gerald Foss said, turning to Dr.
Hale, "were obtained without the knowledge or consent of the residents of this property.
In this state, that raises serious legal questions about—"
"I've already spoken with a family law attorney," Dr.
Hale said.
"The recordings were made in common areas of the home during working hours by an employee present in her professional capacity.
The legal position is not as clean as you're suggesting."
Gerald Foss opened his briefcase.
"Be that as it may—"
"The bruising photographs were taken by me," Dr.
Hale said.
"During a welfare check I conducted at Elena's request.
I am a licensed child welfare specialist.
Those photographs are my documentation, not Elena's.
You're welcome to challenge them."
A small silence.
Gerald Foss closed his briefcase.
Victoria spoke from the armchair.
"Gerald.
Tell them what happens to a housekeeper who sl@ps the lady of the house.
Tell them what that looks like in court."
Gerald Foss cleared his throat.
"An assault charge is—"
"I'm not pressing charges," Mark said.
Victoria's head turned toward him.
"Mark."
"I said I'm not pressing charges against Elena."
"She put her hands on me three times in my own home."
"She put her hands on you after you threw my two-year-old son across a marble floor." Mark set the untouched glass of water down on the mantelpiece.
"If you want to have a conversation about what happened in this house today, Victoria, I am ready to have it.
All of it.
In front of your attorney and Dr.
Hale and anyone else you'd like to invite."
Victoria's jaw tightened.
Gerald Foss put one hand on her arm.
A warning.
She shook it off.
"You don't know what I've been dealing with," she said.
Her voice had changed again — softer now, with an edge of something that wanted to sound like vulnerability.
"You are never here, Mark.
Do you understand that?
You leave at six in the morning and you come home at eight at night and on the weekends you're on calls.
I have been alone in this house with a child who is not mine, who screams for hours, who throws things, who—"
"He's two," I said.
Victoria looked at me.
"He's two years old," I said.
"He throws things because he's two.
He screams because he's two.
That's not a problem.
That's a child."
"No one asked you," Victoria said.
"Elena." Mark's voice was quiet but clear.
"Keep going."
I looked at Victoria.
"You told me once that Thomas reminded you of everything you hadn't chosen.
That was the word you used.
Hadn't chosen.
I was putting away the dishes and you said it like I wasn't there.
Like I was part of the furniture." I paused.
"I wrote it down that night.
It's in the folder."
Victoria's face went through several things very quickly.
"That was a private moment," she said.
"That was me venting to myself."
"In front of a witness," Dr.
Hale said.
"She's a housekeeper."
"She's a person," Mark said.
"And she's been protecting my son when I wasn't."
The word protecting landed in the room and didn't leave.
Victoria turned to her attorney.
Something urgent and quiet passed between them.
Gerald Foss nodded once.
"My client would like to propose," he said carefully, "that this situation be handled privately.
A mediated separation agreement, fair to all parties, with a mutual non-disclosure—"
"No," Mark said.
"Mr.
Calloway, a public proceeding would be damaging to everyone involved, including Thomas—"
"Thomas has already been damaged," Mark said.
"By the person you're representing." He looked at Victoria directly for the first time since sitting down.
"There will be no non-disclosure.
There will be no quiet agreement.
I want a full accounting of every incident in this house since we married.
And I want it on record."
Victoria stood up.
When she spoke, the softness was completely gone.
What was left was something colder and more honest than anything she had shown in the past hour.
"You think you're righteous," she said.
"You think you're the good father standing up for his boy.
But you left that boy with me every single day, Mark.
You chose to.
You knew I didn't want children and you married me anyway and you handed me your son and you walked out the door." She took one step toward him.
"So before you put everything on me — ask yourself what you left behind."
The room was silent.
Mark didn't move.
He didn't look away.
"You're right," he said.
"I did leave him.
And I will spend a long time accounting for that." He picked up his water glass again.
"But what you did to him is not my fault.
And it is not his."
Victoria's mouth opened.
Then closed.
Gerald Foss touched her arm again.
This time she didn't shake him off.
Thomas, in my lap, held up his wooden block and showed it to me.
"Lena," he said.
His word for me.
His small, certain word.
"I see it," I said.
"It's a good one."
He went back to turning it over in his hands, satisfied.
Victoria watched him.
Her expression was something I couldn't name and didn't want to.
"I'd like to go upstairs," she said to Gerald Foss.
"I'd like to go upstairs and pack a bag."
"That seems reasonable," Dr.
Hale said.
Victoria walked to the doorway.
She stopped with her hand on the frame — not looking back, just stopped.
"I did love him," she said.
"In the beginning.
I want that on record too."
No one answered her.
She went upstairs.
The sound of her footsteps crossed the ceiling above us, steady and deliberate, moving toward the bedroom they had shared.
Thomas showed me the block again.
May you like
"Lena," he said.
"Still a good one," I said.
