Chapter 8: Sasha
The silence on the other end lasted exactly two seconds.
Then a woman's voice — careful, not young, not old.
Somewhere in the middle, like someone who had learned to be cautious before she spoke.
"Caden?"
"This isn't Caden," I said.
Another silence.
Longer.
"Who is this?"
"My name is Taylor.
I believe you and I have something in common."
I heard her exhale.
It wasn't surprise.
It was something closer to relief.
"He's there with you," she said.
It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"Is he listening?"
I looked at Caden.
He had gone completely still, both hands flat on his knees, watching me the way a person watches something they cannot stop.
"Yes," I said.
"He is."
"Good." A pause.
"I've been trying to reach him for three days.
I received documents in the mail last week.
Legal documents.
Someone sent me a copy of a marriage record from Pima County.
Seven years ago.
Your name on it." Her voice was steady but tight at the edges.
"I want you to know I had no idea.
I want you to know that whatever he told you about me — about us — I haven't seen or spoken to that man in over five years.
I thought we were divorced.
He told me the paperwork had been filed.
He handled everything."
"He didn't file anything," I said.
"I know that now."
Caden's eyes closed.
"Sasha," I said.
"Do you have the documents they sent you?"
"Yes.
Everything.
I also have emails.
From four years ago, when I found out he'd remarried and confronted him.
He told me I was confused.
That the marriage to me had been annulled." A short, humorless sound.
"I believed him.
I had no reason not to."
"Would you be willing to share those emails with my attorney?"
"I already sent copies to someone named Marcus Hale this morning," she said.
"He reached out to me yesterday.
He said you might call."
Marcus.
He had found her before I even knew to look.
"Thank you," I said.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"I'm sorry this happened to you.
I'm sorry it took this long."
I ended the call and set the phone on the table.
The room was very quiet.
My mother was still standing near the door.
Her arms were folded, not in anger — in the way she used to stand when I was a child and something had gone wrong and she was waiting to see what I would do about it.
I looked at Caden.
"I want you to leave this house," I said.
"I want you to go back across the street, collect whatever belongs to you personally, and leave the property.
The house is in my name.
The cars are in my name.
The accounts you had access to are frozen." I paused.
"Marcus will be in contact with you by end of day.
I suggest you find your own attorney before then."
He didn't move immediately.
He looked at the USB drive on the table, then at me, then at the floor.
"Taylor." His voice had dropped to something almost unrecognizable.
"I know I have no right to ask.
But Donovan—"
"Donovan is my son," I said.
"And he is safe.
That's all you need to know right now."
He stood slowly.
Picked up his phone.
Did not pick up the USB drive.
At the door he stopped.
"For what it's worth," he said, "I did love you.
In the beginning.
Before it all became—" He stopped.
"I'm sorry."
He walked out.
I listened to his footsteps cross the entrance hall.
The front door opened and closed.
My mother crossed the room and sat in the chair he had just left.
She reached across the table and put her hand over mine.
Neither of us said anything for a long moment.
May you like
"Is it over?" she asked finally.
"The worst part is," I said.
