Chapter 8 - The Aftermath
The quiet that settled over the house over the next seventy-two hours was profound.
I didn't stay idle. On Saturday morning, a locksmith arrived and re-keyed every exterior door, installed a digital keypad on the garage, and updated the perimeter security codes. By Monday afternoon, my forensic accountant had traced the full path of the thirty-four thousand dollars: Derek hadn't just bought a laptop; he had paid six months of back rent on Taryn West’s Carlsbad townhouse, along with a four-thousand-dollar deposit on a private catering business they planned to launch together in the spring.
He had been planning to leave me all along. He was simply waiting until he had drained enough of my liquid capital to secure his new life with Taryn, using his children’s resentment as a convenient smokescreen to make the inevitable divorce look like an incompatibility dispute over step-parenting.
On Tuesday morning, my phone buzzed on the kitchen island.
It wasn't Derek. His attorney had already sent a formal request for an informal settlement conference, desperate to avoid criminal fraud referrals.
The caller ID showed Bethany's name.
I hesitated for a second before sliding the green icon across the glass. ""Hello, Bethany.""
There was a long pause on the other end. When Bethany spoke, the theatrical venom and sharp, defensive edge were completely gone. Her voice sounded worn out, hollow, and surprisingly human.
""Eliza,"" she said softly. ""I'm calling from my lawyer's office.""
""If you need bank statements or the notary copies of the prenuptial agreement for your custody hearing, my attorney has already prepared a certified packet,"" I said formally.
""No... well, yes, we’ll need those, but that's not why I'm calling,"" Bethany interrupted. She took a ragged breath. ""I'm calling to apologize.""
I leaned against the counter, caught completely off guard. ""You don't need to apologize to me, Bethany. You were protecting your kids.""
""I was being an idiot,"" Bethany said bluntly, a bitter chuckle escaping her lips. ""Derek spent seven months feeding me poison about you. Every time the kids came over to my house complaining about chore charts or curfews, Derek would text me privately saying, 'I'm trying to rein Eliza in, but she's so controlling with the kids.' He pitted us against each other so neither of us would compare notes on his financial commitments.""
She paused, the rustle of papers audible in the background. ""Marley took down the video on Saturday. But someone had already ripped it and posted it to a local San Diego high school drama page. She’s been locked in her room for three days. She's mortified, Eliza. She realizes what she did.""
""She's fifteen, Bethany,"" I said gently. ""She trusted her father. When you're fifteen, your dad is supposed to be the one person who doesn't use you as a pawn.""
""June told me about the box,"" Bethany said suddenly, her voice dropping into a softer, warmer register. ""She showed me the watercolor pencils yesterday. She told me you sat on the porch in the dark and told her that her art mattered.""
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I swallowed them down. ""June is remarkably talented. She sees colors the way writers see words.""
""She asked if she could call you,"" Bethany said. ""And... Marley wants to come by. Not to ask for anything. Just to say something to your face. Would you be open to that? I can drive them over this afternoon.""
May you like
I looked around the quiet, sunlit kitchen. The silver-wrapped box with the crooked gold star had started a fire that burned down a fraudulent marriage, but looking out at the green lawn and the bright blue California sky, I realized the fire had also cleared away the deadwood.
""Bring them over at three,"" I said. ""I'll bake fresh rolls.""
