Chapter 4 - MY MOTHER’S LETTERS
My mother died when I was twenty-three.
Cancer.
Fast.
Cruel.
Unfair.
She left me twenty-one letters.
One for each birthday through age forty-four.
I had opened only three before meeting Damian.
After we married, the box somehow disappeared.
Damian told me movers must have lost it.
Sabrina was holding it in her hands.
I called Damian before Naomi could stop me.
He answered on the first ring.
“Finally.”
“Give me the letters.”
“No hello?”
“Those belonged to my mother.”
“Then come get them.”
My grip tightened.
“You told me they were lost.”
“I was mistaken.”
“You stole them.”
He chuckled.
“Careful, Claire.”
“Why?”
“Because accusations make you sound unstable.”
There it was.
The favorite word.
Unstable.
“You’ve been calling me that for years.”
“Because you are.”
“No.”
I surprised myself with how calmly the word came.
“You just needed me to believe I was.”
Silence.
Then his voice changed.
Lower.
Colder.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“I’m divorcing you.”
“You think this is about divorce?”
My breath caught.
“What is it about?”
He hung up.
Naomi stared at me.
“Never call him without telling me again.”
“I know.”
“No, Claire.”
Her tone sharpened.
“You don’t.”
She pointed at the phone.
“Men like Damian rely on provoking you into direct contact because they control the emotional terrain.”
I sat down.
“What do we do?”
“We stop reacting.”
Peter spent the next day tracing Wren Consulting.
The transfers led to five shell companies.
One had purchased a condo in Manhattan.
Another a yacht share.
Another had paid Sabrina’s credit cards.
But one transaction made Peter stop talking.
Two million dollars had gone to Merritt Private Health Services.
I knew the name.
“My doctor.”
Naomi looked at me.
“What?”
“Merritt owns the clinic where Damian insisted I receive prenatal care.”
Peter turned the screen.
Payments had begun six months before I became pregnant.
We obtained my medical records legally through my own patient access.
The file described panic attacks I had never experienced.
Alcohol abuse I did not have.
Episodes of confusion that never occurred.
One note claimed I had threatened self-harm.
I nearly dropped the page.
“I never said this.”
Naomi’s expression hardened.
“Damian is building a medical history.”
“For what?”
Nobody answered immediately.
Then my father, who had been sitting quietly at the far end of the conference room, spoke.
“Competency.”
Naomi looked at him.
Nathaniel continued cautiously.
“If he intended to argue Claire was unable to manage financial decisions or safely care for a child, records like these could become useful.”
My stomach twisted.
“He wants my baby?”
“No,” Peter said softly.
“He wants control.”
That afternoon, Naomi filed emergency motions involving the forged financial documents and requested protective measures based partly on the courthouse incident.
My father had no role.
He made sure of that.
He returned to his own courthouse assignments in another division.
But before leaving, he handed me his phone number.
“I know you already have it.”
“I deleted it years ago.”
He nodded.
“Then this is the new one.”
I stared at the paper.
“I’m not ready.”
“I know.”
He walked away.
For the first time in seven years, someone who loved me accepted no without punishing me for saying it.
That night, Elena finally agreed to meet.
We chose a twenty-four-hour diner outside the city.
She arrived wearing sunglasses despite the darkness.
She looked terrified.
“What happened to you?” I asked.
“Damian happened.”
She slid a flash drive across the table.
“I worked for him for five years.”
“What’s on it?”
“Copies of documents he ordered me to destroy.”
Naomi picked it up.
“Why did you keep them?”
“Insurance.”
Elena looked at me.
“Not money insurance.”
“Survival insurance.”
She stood quickly.
“I have to go.”
I caught her wrist.
“Elena.”
She looked down.
“Why is he doing this?”
Her face changed.
For the first time, fear gave way to pity.
“You still think he married you because he loved you.”
My chest tightened.
Elena pulled her hand free.
May you like
“Ask your father what your mother left you.”
Then she disappeared into the night.
