Chapter 13 - SEVENTY-TWO HOURS
The new filing referred to anxiety medication I had taken after Maisie was born.
I had struggled for several months with sleeplessness and panic.
I had seen a doctor.
I had followed treatment.
I had recovered.
Margaret turned that responsible decision into evidence that I was unstable.
What frightened me was not the accusation.
It was how she knew the details.
Only three people had known.
My doctor.
Me.
And Evan.
I called him.
“You told her.”
His silence answered.
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Why?”
“She asked why you weren’t coming to Thanksgiving.”
“I had the flu.”
“I know.”
“Then why discuss my medical history?”
“She kept pushing.”
“And you gave in.”
“Yes.”
I leaned against the wall.
This marriage had apparently contained no room that Margaret did not possess a key to.
Rebecca gave me worse news.
The court had scheduled a temporary hearing in seventy-two hours.
Until then, neither side was supposed to make significant changes regarding Maisie.
Margaret demanded visitation.
Rebecca opposed it.
Evan had not yet withdrawn his declaration.
That mattered.
“If he changes his statement,” I asked, “does this become easier?”
“Yes.”
“Will he?”
“I don’t know.”
Neither did I.
That evening, Evan came to see Maisie at a supervised public location we had agreed upon through our lawyers.
He sat across from our daughter in a quiet playroom.
Maisie looked at him for a long time.
Then she asked, “Daddy live Nana?”
Evan’s face collapsed.
“For now.”
“Why?”
He looked at me.
I did not rescue him.
This was his answer to give.
“Because Daddy made some bad choices.”
Maisie thought about that.
“Nana hit me.”
Evan closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“You see?”
His mouth trembled.
“Yes.”
“You help?”
The room became completely silent.
Evan lowered himself to his knees in front of her.
“I should have.”
Maisie touched the toy rabbit in her lap.
“But you no help.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
Maisie did not understand adult apologies.
She simply returned to her rabbit.
Evan stayed on his knees.
When the visit ended, he followed me into the hallway.
“I’m withdrawing the declaration.”
I searched his face.
“Because of the letters?”
“No.”
He looked through the glass at Maisie.
“Because my daughter just asked whether I saw someone hurt her.”
“And I had to tell her yes.”
For the first time since the birthday dinner, I believed he might actually do the right thing.
Then his phone rang.
He checked the screen.
Margaret.
He declined the call.
Three seconds later, a text arrived.
Evan read it.
His face turned white.
“What?”
He handed me the phone.
Margaret had written one sentence.
May you like
Withdraw that declaration, and you lose your job, your inheritance, and this family forever.
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