Chapter 12 - A Letter Never Meant for Her
I had written that letter at twenty-eight weeks, after a nightmare about not making it through delivery. It said our daughter was wanted, that her father laughed with his whole face, that I hoped she'd be braver than I was. It was private, sentimental, and unfinished.
Linda had read it.
"It wasn't hers," I said.
"I'll get it back," Daniel promised.
"I need you to understand why taking it was wrong before you do anything else."
For once he didn't answer with a reason his mother might have done it. He nodded.
At Mara's house I made a list of what I could actually control: medical contacts, where I slept, the information I shared, the people invited to the birth. The list wasn't a victory speech. It was something I could look at when fear made my thoughts scatter.
On Monday I spoke with attorney Helen Brooks. She explained that marriage, property, and parenting questions couldn't be solved by one angry text or a hospital visitor rule. We discussed documentation, finances, the baby, and choices available if I decided to separate. She never suggested I could erase Daniel as a parent because he'd failed me as a husband.
That distinction hurt, but it mattered.
When I left Helen's office, my supervisor called. Linda had contacted my workplace and said I was too emotionally unwell to make decisions. My supervisor had refused to discuss my employment with her and wanted me to know.
"I'm sorry," she said. "It sounded personal."
"It is. Thank you for not treating it like it's your business."
May you like
I sat in my parked car until my hands stopped shaking. Then a new message appeared from Linda: You can run to lawyers, but Daniel knows where you are. I can always find you.
I looked up. Across the street, Linda's silver SUV was turning slowly toward my car.
