Chapter 8: What He Did When He Thought He Was Losing
The Husband came back into the room.
His mother followed.
Roy sat at the table.
Her Father stood near the window.
She stayed in her chair.
"My client—" the Husband began.
"You don't have a client," Roy said.
"You have an attorney you haven't reached yet.
Until then, you're speaking for yourself."
The Husband pulled out his own chair and sat down.
He placed his phone on the table face-down.
Deliberate.
Controlled.
"I want my wife to come upstairs with me," he said.
"So we can talk privately.
As a couple."
"No," her Father said.
"I'm not asking you."
"She's not going anywhere with you," her Father said.
"Not today."
The Husband looked at her directly.
His expression shifted — just slightly — into something that looked, on the surface, like hurt.
"You're going to let them do this?
After everything?
You're going to let your father and some lawyer sit in our home and treat me like—"
"Don't," she said.
He stopped.
"Don't do the hurt voice," she said.
"Not today."
Something moved across his face.
The hurt disappeared.
What replaced it was quieter and less familiar.
"You have no idea what you're starting," he said.
"I know exactly what I'm starting."
"You're seven months pregnant.
You think a court is going to look at you — at this—" he gestured at the room, at the notebooks, at her Father "—and think you're stable?
You think they're going to hand you anything?"
"She won't be asking a court to hand her anything," Roy said.
"She'll be asking a court to look at fourteen documented entries, two witness accounts, three falsified medical summaries, and audio recordings of your conversations with her physician."
The Husband's jaw tightened.
"Those recordings are ill*gal."
"That's an argument for your attorney to make.
I look forward to hearing it." Roy opened his legal pad.
"In the meantime, I'd like to discuss the lease on this property, which carries both your names, and the question of temporary occupancy while proceedings are initiated."
"She's not taking my house."
"It's her house too," her Father said.
"I want her out.
I want all of you out."
Roy looked up from his legal pad.
"You're asking a seven-month pregnant woman to vacate the shared marital home.
You'd like to make that request formally?"
The Husband said nothing.
"Because I can note it.
If you'd like."
The Mother-in-Law touched her son's arm.
A small gesture.
Warning.
He shook her off.
"Fine," he said.
"Fine.
She can stay." He stood up.
"But this isn't over.
You think you have something?
You have a housekeeper's diary and a scared woman who doesn't know what she wants.
My attorney will have this dismissed before the baby is born."
He picked up his phone from the table.
Roy said, "Before you go upstairs — the phone your wife left on the table earlier.
The one with the message from Dr.
Harlan.
I'll need that to remain here."
The Husband looked at it.
"It's her phone," Roy said.
"It stays with her."
A long pause.
Then the Husband walked out of the room.
His mother stood for a moment longer.
She looked at her daughter-in-law — a long, measuring look — and then she said, very quietly:
"You have no idea what this family could have given you."
She left before anyone could answer.
The room was quiet.
Her Father sat down heavily in the chair across from his daughter.
She reached across the table and put her hand over his.
Neither of them said anything for a while.
May you like
Then Mrs.
Patel came back through the front door, slightly out of breath, the small phone held carefully in both hands.
