Chapter 7: Teresa's Last Move
Three days after Mason's meeting with Daniel, Teresa called Amy.
Amy was in the kitchen feeding Frederick when the number came up.
She looked at it for two full rings.
Then she answered and put it on speaker without saying a word to me — just held the phone out so I could hear.
"Amy." Teresa's voice was warm.
Careful.
The voice she used when she wanted something.
"I've been thinking about you.
I've been worried."
Amy said nothing.
"I know things have been difficult.
I know Connor is upset.
But I want you to understand — everything I did, I did because I love this family.
I love my son.
I love that baby."
"You love Frederick," Amy said.
"Of course I do."
"You held him twice in the last six months.
Both times I asked you to.
You never offered."
A short pause.
"Amy, I think we've had some misunderstandings—"
"You told his pediatrician you were his primary caregiver."
Silence.
"You answered my phone without asking and changed the contact information on my son's medical file."
"I was trying to help—"
"You had me so frightened that I recorded a conversation on my phone and carried it for two months because I didn't know if my own husband would believe me." Amy's voice didn't rise.
It stayed level and clear.
"That's not a misunderstanding, Teresa."
Another pause.
When Teresa spoke again, the warmth was gone.
"I think," she said slowly, "that you've turned my son against me.
I think you've been doing it since the beginning.
And when this is all finished — when Connor sees what you really are — he'll understand why I did what I did."
I stepped into the kitchen.
"He already understands," I said.
A long silence.
"Connor." Her voice shifted again.
Softer.
"Sweetheart—"
"Don't."
"I'm your mother.
Whatever happened, whatever mistakes were made — I'm your mother.
You can't throw that away."
"I'm not throwing anything away," I said.
"You made choices.
Those choices have consequences.
That's not me throwing anything away.
That's just what happens."
"Connor, if you let them prosecute me — if you don't speak to the DA on my behalf — this will follow our family forever.
Frederick will grow up knowing his grandmother was—"
"Stop."
"—treated like a crjminal by her own son—"
"Stop," I said again.
"You don't get to use Frederick.
Not now.
Not after what you did to him."
"I didn't do anything to that child—"
"He was feverish.
Amy was holding him with one arm and scrubbing your dishes with the other.
He needed a doctor and he needed his mother to sit down, and instead he spent his first birthday in a house full of people who didn't care whether he was sick or not." My voice was steady.
I was surprised by how steady it was.
"You don't get to talk about what's good for Frederick."
The line was quiet for a long time.
Then Teresa said something I hadn't expected.
"I have letters," she said.
"Letters Amy wrote before you were married.
Things she said about you.
About your family.
About what she really thought of us.
If you push this, Connor, I will make sure everyone sees them."
Amy looked up at me.
I looked at her.
"What letters?" I said.
"She knows," Teresa said.
"Ask her."
I kept my eyes on Amy.
Amy shook her head slowly.
"There are no letters," she said.
"I've never written Teresa a letter in my life."
"She's lying to you," Teresa said.
"She's been lying to you—"
"I'm going to stop you there," I said.
"Because here's what's going to happen.
You're going to end this call.
Your lawyer is going to contact Daniel Hess.
And if you contact Amy directly again before this is resolved, I will add that to the record of what you've done." I paused.
"There are no letters.
And you know there are no letters.
That was your last move, Mom.
And it didn't work."
I ended the call.
Amy set Frederick down in his chair and put both hands flat on the counter.
"She's going to keep trying," Amy said.
"I know."
"She's not going to stop until there's nothing left to try."
"I know that too." I crossed the kitchen and stood beside her.
"Let her try.
Daniel has Mason's full statement.
He has the recording.
He has the title search, the notary records, the connection to Fitch.
There's nothing left for her to use."
Amy was quiet for a moment.
"I keep waiting to feel something," she said.
"Relief.
Anger.
Something."
"What do you feel?"
She looked at Frederick, who was watching us both with the calm, uncomplicated attention of a one-year-old who had no idea what any of this meant.
"Tired," she said.
"I just feel tired."
I put my arm around her.
May you like
"It's almost over," I said.
Two days later, Teresa was formally charged.
