Chapter 7: What Karen Finally Said
"She's been talking to Daniel's brothers," Karen said.
"For months.
Telling them that you're isolating him.
That you control who he sees and when.
That you've turned him against the family."
I sat on the edge of the bed.
"And they believed her?"
"Marcus did.
He stopped calling Daniel in February.
I thought it was just Marcus being Marcus.
But last month he told me he didn't want to get in the middle of 'Daniel's situation.' That's the word he used.
Situation."
"What about Greg?"
"Greg asked me two weeks ago if Daniel was okay.
If you were 'letting him' come to family events." She said it carefully.
"Those were his exact words.
Letting him."
I stared at the wall.
"She's been building this for a long time," Karen said.
"Long before yesterday.
Yesterday was just the first time she miscalculated.
She didn't expect you to have the app.
She didn't expect me to speak up at the table."
"She expected me to make a scene and look unstable," I said.
"Yes."
"And she expected Daniel to manage me."
"Yes."
I thought about the phone call the night before.
I want an apology.
From her.
In writing.
She hadn't asked for an apology from Daniel.
Only from me.
Because I was the variable she needed to discredit.
If I was the problem, then everything I said about Mia became suspect.
"Karen," I said, "I need to ask you something and I need you to be honest."
"Okay."
"Do you think Daniel's brothers would believe Mia if she told them what she told us this morning?"
A pause.
"Marcus, no.
Not right now.
Greg — maybe.
If he heard it from her directly."
"What about Robert?
He spoke up at the table last night."
"Uncle Robert has never liked how Mom treats Mia.
He lost his first wife young.
He raised a daughter alone for years.
He sees things differently than the rest of them." She paused.
"He called me this morning, actually."
"What did he say?"
"He said he wanted to know if you were alright.
And he said—" She stopped.
"What?"
"He said he'd seen the way Patricia looks at Mia.
And that he'd been ashamed of himself for not saying something sooner."
I closed my eyes.
"He wants to help," Karen said.
"If you need a witness.
If this goes anywhere official.
He's willing to make a statement."
I hadn't thought about official yet.
I had been thinking about Daniel, about Mia, about the footage, about the phone call.
I hadn't let myself think past the next conversation.
But Patricia had mentioned a lawyer.
And Patricia did not make empty gestures.
"I need to talk to Daniel," I said.
"I know.
There's one more thing."
I waited.
"She called Greg this morning," Karen said.
"Before eight o'clock.
I don't know what she said.
But Greg texted me an hour ago asking if Daniel was planning to 'do something drastic.' That's a direct quote."
"She's already moving," I said.
"Yes."
I thanked Karen and ended the call.
I sat for a moment with the phone in my lap.
Downstairs, I could hear Daniel's voice, low and gentle, and Mia laughing at something.
A small, real laugh.
The kind she made when she forgot to be careful.
I went back downstairs.
Daniel looked up when I came in.
He read my face.
"Mia," he said, "can you go pick out a book for later?
Any one you want."
She slid off the couch and disappeared upstairs.
I sat down and told him everything Karen had said.
The brothers.
Marcus going quiet in February.
Greg's text.
The word situation.
Patricia calling before eight in the morning.
Daniel listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he said: "She's trying to get ahead of it."
"Yes."
"She thinks if she frames it first, anything we say looks like retaliation."
"Yes."
He was quiet for a moment.
"Robert called Karen?"
"He wants to make a statement.
If it comes to that."
Daniel leaned back.
Looked at the ceiling.
"It's going to come to that, isn't it."
It wasn't really a question.
"I think we need to talk to someone," I said.
"Not to be aggressive.
But to understand what our options are.
What protections exist for Mia."
"A family lawyer."
"Yes."
He nodded slowly.
Then he looked at me.
"She called Mia the reason I don't visit enough."
"Yes."
"She said that to a six-year-old."
"Yes."
He stood up.
Walked to the kitchen.
Came back with nothing in his hands.
Just needed to move.
"Call whoever you need to call," he said.
"I'm with you."
I picked up my phone.
But before I could open my contacts, a message arrived from a number I didn't recognize.
It read: *You should know what your husband's mother has been telling people about your daughter.
May you like
I have screenshots.
I think you need to see them.*
