Chapter 9: The Solicitor and the List
Dad called the next morning while I was helping Ruth in the garden.
I sat on the back step with the phone and Pocket pressed against my leg, and Dad's voice came through steady and careful, the way it sounded when he was reporting something he had already processed.
"I met with a solicitor this morning," he said.
"A family law specialist.
Her name is Ms.
Okafor."
"What did she say?"
"She said the video is useful but not the main issue.
She said the pattern matters more than any single incident.
She asked me to write down everything I could remember — dates, events, anything specific." He paused.
"I've been writing since I got home last night.
I have four pages."
"Four pages," I said.
"There's more than I realized when I was living inside it." Another pause.
"She also said she'd like to speak with you.
Not formally.
Just a conversation.
Only if you're comfortable."
"I'm comfortable," I said.
"I told her about what you said.
About Claire coming into your room."
"Ruth said you'd need to hear it."
"Ruth was right." His voice was quieter for a moment.
"Ethan, I need to ask you something and I need you to answer honestly."
"Okay."
"Did you ever feel unsafe?
Not just treated unfairly.
Unsafe."
I thought about it properly, the way the question deserved.
"No," I said.
"Not unsafe.
Just — invisible.
Like I was a problem to be managed, not a person."
He was quiet for a long time.
"That's enough," he said finally.
"That's more than enough."
Claire called that afternoon.
Ruth handed me the phone and said, "You don't have to answer." But I took it.
"Ethan." Her voice was warm.
The version she used when she needed something.
"I want you to know I'm not angry with you.
I understand you were upset.
Birthdays can be emotional, and I think things got out of hand in a way none of us intended."
I didn't say anything.
"I think if we all sit down together, calmly, we can sort this out.
Your father and I just need some time to talk without outside interference." A slight pause on the word outside.
"I think you know that Ruth has her own feelings about our family, and it's not fair to you to be caught in the middle of that."
"She's my mum's sister," I said.
"I know, sweetheart.
And that's complicated.
But your loyalty should be to your home."
"My home is where my dad is," I said.
A short silence.
"Of course it is," Claire said.
Her voice hadn't changed but something behind it had.
"I just want you to know that whatever happens, I don't blame you.
You're a child.
You were upset.
These things happen."
"I wasn't upset," I said.
"I was telling the truth."
Another silence.
Longer.
"I think," she said carefully, "that you've been encouraged to see things in a particular way.
By people who have their own reasons."
"I've been seeing things clearly for three years," I said.
"I just didn't think anyone would listen."
She didn't respond immediately.
When she spoke again, the warmth was gone.
Just the flat, careful voice underneath it.
"Tell your father I'd like to speak with him tonight."
"I'll tell Ruth," I said.
"She'll pass it on."
I handed the phone back.
Ruth was standing in the kitchen doorway.
She had heard enough.
"How do you feel?" she said.
I thought about it.
"Like I'm not twelve anymore," I said.
Ruth looked at me for a moment.
Then she said, "Your mum would have said the same thing at your age." She turned back to the kitchen.
"Come and help me with dinner."
That evening, Dad called again.
"Claire wants to meet," he said.
"She suggested a family counselor.
Someone she knows."
"Someone she knows," I repeated.
"Yes.
I told Ms.
Okafor.
She said if we go that route, we choose the counselor independently."
"Is Claire going to agree to that?"
"She said she'd think about it." He paused.
"Ms.
Okafor also said something else.
She said that if Claire contests anything formally, the video and the school records will be part of the picture.
She said Claire may already know that."
"She's calculating," I said.
"She's trying to find the version of this she can control."
"Ms.
Okafor said the same thing." He sounded tired.
"She said to let Claire make the next move.
Don't chase.
Don't negotiate.
Wait."
"Okay," I said.
"How are you doing?"
I looked out the window at the dark garden.
The bird feeder was just visible against the fence.
"I'm okay," I said.
"Ruth made pasta again."
He laughed.
A short, real laugh.
The first one I'd heard from him in days.
"Get some sleep," he said.
"I'll call tomorrow."
I went to bed and lay in the dark and thought about Claire sitting somewhere, working through her options, looking for the angle she hadn't tried yet.
She was good at that.
But she hadn't planned on Lily.
May you like
She hadn't planned on Ruth.
And she hadn't planned on Dad checking the school records himself, before anyone told him to.
