Chapter 7: What Diane Had to Say
She was already at our door when we got inside — not physically, but the message sat on Rob's phone like a presence in the room.
He read it twice.
Then he set the phone face-down on the kitchen counter.
"I'll call her in the morning," he said.
"She said there are things we don't know yet."
"I know what that means." His voice was tired.
"It means she's heard we've been asking questions and she wants to get ahead of it."
He was right.
I'd seen that move before — not from Diane, but from people like her.
The preemptive call.
*Let me explain before you hear it from someone else.* It was only ever used by people who had something to explain.
He called her the next morning while I was still in the kitchen.
I didn't leave the room.
He didn't ask me to.
"Diane." He sat down at the table.
"Talk."
I heard her voice through the phone — not the words, just the tone.
Careful.
Measured.
"Put her on speaker," I said quietly.
He looked at me.
Then he did.
"—just wanted to make sure you had the full picture," Diane was saying.
"Then give it to us," Rob said.
"Both of us.
You're on speaker."
A pause.
"Oh.
She's there."
"My wife is here.
Yes."
Another pause.
When Diane spoke again, the careful tone had sharpened slightly at the edges.
"I didn't tell Sandra to do anything," she said.
"I want that to be clear."
"What did you tell her?" I asked.
"I mentioned — in passing — that you'd been to a studio.
That you'd had something done.
I didn't know she was going to—"
"You gave her the name of the studio," I said.
"And the day."
Silence.
"Diane," Rob said.
"Did you know she was going to send someone to take a photo?"
"No." Quick.
Too quick.
"Absolutely not.
I had no idea she'd do something like that."
"But you gave her the information she needed to do it."
"I was just talking.
I didn't think—"
"You didn't think," Rob said.
"Or you didn't want to think."
"Rob, I'm your sister.
I've been looking out for you your whole life.
I just wanted to make sure—"
"Make sure of what?"
The line was quiet.
"That she wasn't taking advantage of you." Diane's voice had dropped.
"You changed your will, Rob.
You're leaving her money that should go to your children.
To Marcus.
To Lily.
I've watched men do that — fall for someone later in life and rewrite everything and then—"
"Fall for someone." Rob's voice was very flat.
"She's my wife.
We've been married for seven years."
"I know that."
"Do you?
Because what you just described — a man who falls for someone — that's not a marriage.
That's a mistake.
Is that what you think I made?"
Diane didn't answer.
"I love her," Rob said.
"I chose her.
And what you did — what you helped Sandra do — nearly cost me my marriage.
Nearly cost me my wife's trust.
Over money that isn't yours and decisions that aren't yours to make."
"I was trying to protect you."
"You were trying to protect an inheritance." His voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
"Those are not the same thing."
I watched him across the table.
His hands were flat on the surface, perfectly still.
"I need you to hear me clearly," he said.
"What happened — the photo, the coaching of Lily, all of it — I know your part in it.
And I need you to understand that this cannot happen again.
Not to my wife.
Not in my family."
"Rob—"
"I'm not finished." He paused.
"You owe her an apology.
A real one.
Not an explanation.
Not a justification.
An apology."
A long silence.
"I'll call her," Diane said finally.
Her voice had gone small.
"Good." Rob looked at me.
"Is there anything else you want to say to her?"
I thought about it.
"Yes," I said.
"One thing." I leaned slightly toward the phone.
"Lily is going to grow up knowing that her drawing is on her grandmother's arm.
That's the story she'll carry.
I'd like it if the rest of this wasn't part of the story she carries too.
So whatever you need to do to put this right — please do it.
For her sake, if not for mine."
The line was quiet for a moment.
"Okay," Diane said.
Just that.
Rob ended the call.
He set the phone down gently.
Outside, a car passed.
The refrigerator hummed.
Somewhere down the street, a dog barked once and went quiet.
"Is it over?" he asked.
I looked at the tattoo on my arm.
Lily's uneven letters.
May you like
The small heart.
"Almost," I said.
