Chapter 3: What Patricia Arranged
I stepped back and opened the door wider.
"Come in," I said to Diane.
Patricia moved first.
"You don't live here anymore.
You signed—"
"I signed divorce papers." I held up the deed.
"Not this."
Diane walked in.
She was younger than I'd expected — mid-twenties, dark circles under her eyes, the baby wrapped against her chest in a carrier that looked like it had been through several hard months.
She looked around the living room the way people do when they've heard a place described many times but are seeing it for the first time.
She had heard about this house before.
"Sit down," I said.
Ethan hadn't moved from the center of the room.
"Nobody is sitting down.
Diane, I told you not to come here.
I told you specifically—"
"You told me a lot of things." Diane didn't raise her voice.
She sat on the edge of the sofa and adjusted the baby carrier.
"So did Patricia."
Patricia was standing near the hallway.
Her arms were crossed but her hands were gripping her own elbows.
"This is not the time."
"You've been saying that for eight months." Diane looked up at her.
"When is the time, Patricia?
When the baby is walking?
When she starts school?"
Ethan turned to his mother.
"What does she mean, eight months?"
Patricia said nothing.
"Patricia." His voice had an edge I hadn't heard before.
Not anger at me.
Anger at her.
"How long have you known about this child?"
"That is not relevant right now."
"How long?"
The silence stretched.
The baby made a soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and a question.
"Since before she was born," Diane said quietly.
"Patricia came to my apartment.
She offered me money to move to another city and not contact Ethan directly." She paused.
"She said she would handle everything.
That she would tell him when the time was right."
I watched Ethan's face.
Something was collapsing behind it.
"You went to her apartment," he said.
Not a question.
A recitation.
Like he was reading something he didn't want to believe was written.
"I was protecting this family," Patricia said.
"From what?"
"From her." Patricia pointed at Diane.
Then, without hesitating, she pointed at me.
"From both of them.
You were finally free of this marriage.
You were finally making the right choice.
I wasn't going to let some girl with a baby derail everything I had worked—"
She stopped.
The word hung there.
Worked.
Ethan stared at his mother.
"Everything you had worked for."
Patricia straightened.
"Everything we had worked for."
"No." He shook his head slowly.
"You said what you meant."
I had been quiet long enough.
I set the deed on the coffee table, face up, and sat down across from Diane.
"Tell me about the money she offered you."
Patricia's head snapped toward me.
"You have no standing in this conversation."
"I own the house you're standing in." I kept my eyes on Diane.
"Take your time."
Diane looked at me for a moment.
Then something in her shoulders dropped, like she'd been holding a weight she hadn't realized she was carrying.
"Fifty thousand," she said.
"She said she'd wire it in two payments.
First when I signed an agreement not to contact Ethan.
Second when I relocated."
"Did you sign?"
"No." Diane glanced at the baby.
"I couldn't.
She's his daughter.
Whatever he is, whatever this family is — she deserves to know her father."
The room was very quiet.
Ethan sat down heavily on the armchair nearest the window.
He didn't look at his mother.
He didn't look at Diane.
He looked at the floor between his feet like he was trying to find solid ground and couldn't locate it.
Patricia picked up her handbag from the side table.
"I'm not staying here to be interrogated in my son's home by a woman who is no longer his wife."
"Put the bag down, Patricia." My voice was calm.
I surprised myself with how calm it was.
"The man who served those formal notices is still outside.
One of them has your name on it."
Her hand tightened on the strap.
"Sit down," I said.
May you like
"We're not finished."
She sat down.
