Chapter 12 - What Ryan Hid
Ryan recognized the box before I did.
“That's from the mortgage refinancing,” he said.
I stared at him.
“What refinancing?”
He pressed both palms against his eyes.
Our house had been refinanced two years earlier, while I was recovering from an exhausting round of fertility treatment.
Ryan had handled the paperwork; I had signed only the documents our bank provided.
For a family identity check, he'd emailed a scan of my license to Diane because she offered to help organize the file.
“Why didn't you tell me she still had it?”
“I didn't know.”
“Did you ever ask her to delete it?”
“No.”
His answer hung between us.
It wasn't the same as hurting me.
It wasn't even a crime.
But it was another little door he'd left open because his mother had always expected one.
Ortiz collected the emails with our consent.
The attachments explained how someone could have copied my name, signature, and old address from documents dated years apart.
They also showed that Ryan had not authorized a guaranty or any transfer from the children's trust.
I wanted to feel relieved.
Instead, I needed space from my husband.
“Please stay at the house tonight,” I told him. “I want Mrs. Alvarez here.”
“Whatever you need.”
Before he left, he stopped beside my bed.
“You shouldn't have had to fight my family alone.”
“No,” I said. “I shouldn't have.”
That night Diane called three times from unknown numbers.
I didn't answer.
At midnight, the hospital social worker brought me a copy of a report filed with children's services.
It alleged that I was emotionally unstable and that Ryan's relatives feared I could not care for two premature infants.
The report included details about my treatment that only family members knew.
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Across the bottom was a name I'd spent six years trying to please.
Diane Whitaker.
