Chapter 9: The Petition Against Me
Before I could hear Anna’s recording, I had to defend my right to remain her daughter’s father.
Linda filed an amended guardianship petition.
This version included photographs from Anna’s funeral, my counseling records, and a sworn statement from a former employee who claimed I had once appeared intoxicated at work.
The statement was false.
But false accusations did not need to be proven before they caused damage.
They only needed to be repeated.
Linda’s attorney submitted the short video showing me striking her.
He argued that the full circumstances did not excuse “an explosive pattern of violence.”
Nora responded with my employment evaluations, medical records, Lily’s school attendance, testimony from Grace, and the complete recordings from the party.
She also submitted evidence that Linda had concealed abuse and participated in the theft of Lily’s trust.
The hearing lasted nearly six hours.
I testified.
Nora asked the questions first.
“Did you strike your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Was it lawful?”
“No.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Lily saw me use violence when she needed to see that she was safe.”
Linda’s attorney approached.
“Mr. Carter, you struck a sixty-eight-year-old woman twice while holding a child.”
“Yes.”
“You could have seriously injured your mother.”
“Yes.”
“You claim to value accountability. Should your daughter be placed with someone who cannot control himself?”
“I lost control that night. I have taken responsibility and entered counseling. My mother has not accepted responsibility for watching my daughter be assaulted.”
He objected.
The judge allowed the answer to stand.
Linda watched me from across the courtroom.
There was no regret in her face.
Only fury that I had spoken against her publicly.
The judge denied her petition again.
He removed the requirement that Grace live with us but continued monthly child-protection visits.
Then he addressed me directly.
“Mr. Carter, protecting a child does not authorize retaliation. If you engage in further violence, this court will respond immediately.”
“I understand.”
“See that you do.”
Outside, reporters shouted questions.
I said nothing.
Nora had advised silence until the criminal investigation developed.
As we walked toward the parking lot, Thomas failed to appear.
He had been scheduled to give testimony about Linda’s role in hiding the blue box.
Nora called him repeatedly.
No answer.
Detective Torres sent an officer to his motel.
The room was empty.
His clothes remained in the closet.
His medication sat unopened on the nightstand.
His car was found three hours later near a reservoir.
The driver’s door was unlocked.
His phone lay on the seat.
There was no sign of him.
A folded note rested beneath the windshield wiper.
I’M SORRY FOR EVERYTHING.
Search teams entered the woods before dark.
Linda refused to answer questions.
Her attorney stated that she had not spoken to Thomas in four days.
Phone records proved she had called him seventeen times that morning.
The final call lasted twelve minutes.
Detective Torres visited our house after Lily went to bed.
“Do you think he hurt himself?” I asked.
“We’re investigating every possibility.”
“What did Mom say during the call?”
“We don’t have the content.”
“Did Rebecca contact him from jail?”
“Not directly.”
“Indirectly?”
Torres did not answer.
That meant yes.
The missing recorder had not yet been processed because Mason wanted a lawyer present before turning it over.
I could not blame him.
Every adult in his life had failed him.
At midnight, a state trooper found Thomas walking along a rural highway twelve miles from the reservoir.
He was cold, dehydrated, and disoriented.
He had not attempted suicide.
He had abandoned the car because someone had been following him.
At the hospital, he told Detective Torres a black SUV had waited outside his motel.
That morning, an envelope had been pushed beneath his door.
Inside was a photograph of Lily walking into school.
A message was written beneath it.
PEOPLE WHO TESTIFY LOSE MORE THAN THEY EXPECT.
The photograph had been taken before the protective order.
The threat was old, but Thomas believed it was newly delivered to warn him.
“Who had the photograph?” I asked.
“Rebecca,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“I saw it in her house months ago.”
“Why was she photographing Lily?”
“She said she was documenting your parenting.”
My father began to shake.
“There is more.”
Detective Torres turned on her recorder.
Thomas stared at me.
“Linda deleted a voicemail from Anna’s phone after the accident.”
“What voicemail?”
“Anna called you from the SUV before she left.”
“I never received it.”
“Your mother had your phone.”
I remembered.
On the night Anna died, I had been helping my father repair a broken pipe at their house. My phone was charging in the kitchen.
“What did Anna say?”
“Linda listened to it.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because she told Rebecca they had to erase it before you heard.”
Detective Torres leaned forward.
“Was the voicemail backed up?”
Thomas swallowed.
“Anna’s phone automatically saved messages to the family cloud account.”
“Do you have the password?”
He looked toward me.
“Linda does.”
The password was Anna’s middle name followed by Lily’s birthday.
Investigators accessed the account before sunrise.
The deleted voicemail was still there.
Anna’s voice filled the hospital room.
“Ethan, your mom gave me the SUV because my car won’t start. The brakes feel wrong. She said they were checked yesterday, but I don’t believe her. Call me when you get this.”
Then Anna lowered her voice.
“Linda knows I’m meeting the attorney tomorrow.”
May you like
There was a pause.
“If she tells you I’m imagining things again, please don’t believe her this time.”
