Chapter 4: The Man He Was Before
We stayed in the hospital for two days.
The doctors wanted to monitor Emily's weight.
I didn't argue.
Every extra hour inside those walls felt like a wall between us and Columbus, between us and Derek's voice on that voicemail, between us and whatever he was doing back home while I lay in a narrow bed holding our daughter.
Pauline drove up on the second morning.
She was in her late forties, with dark hair cut short and the kind of careful stillness that belongs to people who have learned not to react too quickly.
She brought coffee for Rachel and a small knitted blanket for Emily — pale yellow, clearly handmade.
"I made it three weeks ago," she said, setting it on the foot of the bed.
"I wasn't sure I'd ever get to give it to her."
Rachel took the coffee.
I watched Pauline look at Emily.
"She looks nothing like him," Pauline said quietly.
"Good," Rachel said.
Pauline sat down.
She set a manila folder on the tray table.
"I want to show you what I have before I explain anything," she said.
"I find it's easier to believe the documents first."
She opened the folder.
The first page was a bank statement.
Our joint account — mine and Derek's.
I recognized the account number.
The balance four months ago had been just over forty-two thousand dollars.
The current balance was six hundred and twelve.
I stared at it.
"He moved it in small amounts," Pauline said.
"Never more than three thousand at a time.
Spread across eleven transfers.
It looks like normal spending if you're not watching carefully."
"I wasn't watching," I said.
"He handled all of it.
He said it was easier that way."
"He always says that."
Rachel set her coffee down.
"Where did it go?"
"A private account in his name only.
Opened eight months ago, two weeks after Nora told him she was pregnant." Pauline turned to the next page.
"His lawyer helped him structure it.
I have the lawyer's name."
"His lawyer knew?" I said.
"His lawyer has known Derek for eleven years." Pauline's voice stayed level.
"He helped him do the same thing to me."
The room was quiet except for Emily making a small sound in her sleep.
"There's more," Pauline said.
She turned to the third page.
It was a photograph — printed from what looked like a phone camera, slightly grainy.
Derek at a restaurant table.
Across from him, a woman I didn't recognize.
His hand was over hers on the table.
The timestamp in the corner read eight weeks ago.
"His client dinner," Rachel said flatly.
I didn't say anything.
"Her name is Vanessa," Pauline said.
"She works at his firm.
It started about six months ago, from what I can tell.
Possibly earlier."
Six months ago.
The same month he had started sleeping on the far edge of the bed.
The same month the complaints about my pregnancy had begun.
I set the photograph face-down on the blanket.
"What do I do with all of this?" I asked.
"You give it to my lawyer," Pauline said.
"Her name is Grace Hendricks.
She's in Pittsburgh.
She handled my divorce and she has been waiting for your call since last Tuesday."
"Last Tuesday," I repeated.
"That was—"
"The night Derek forgot your anniversary and made you cry in the kitchen." Pauline closed the folder.
"I told you.
The windows were open."
Rachel looked at me.
I looked at Emily.
May you like
"Call Grace," Rachel said.
I picked up my phone.
