Chapter 6 - The Cost of Knowing What He Had Done
Lucy began seeing a child therapist recommended through her pediatrician.
The therapist did not interrogate her about Richard.
She focused on safety, emotions, and helping Lucy understand that adults’ choices were not her responsibility.
That mattered because Lucy had already begun blaming herself.
“If I called him Dad, would we still live at home?”
I sat beside her.
“No.”
“But maybe he wouldn’t be mad.”
I hated Richard for putting that question inside an eight-year-old.
“You never have to call someone something because you’re scared of what happens if you don’t.”
She nodded.
Then asked:
“Is he still your husband?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still love him?”
Children find the question adults spend thousands of dollars in therapy avoiding.
“I don’t know what love is supposed to do with what happened yet.”
That was the most honest answer I had.
The CPS assessment did not magically decide our future.
Richard denied that he intended to harm Lucy.
He acknowledged placing her in the cabinet as punishment but described it as brief and claimed the door was never secured.
Lucy consistently said he held the latch from outside.
The investigator documented both accounts.
My attorney advised that because Richard had no legal parental rights to Lucy, I was not required to facilitate contact between them while the safety concerns were being addressed.
So I didn’t.
Richard hated that.
He sent messages asking to see her.
Then messages asking whether she missed him.
Then apologies directed through me.
I stopped serving as the messenger.
“If you have something appropriate to say,” Marissa told his attorney, “it can go through Lucy’s therapist.”
The mansion became another practical problem.
Both our names were on it.
Neither of us could pretend the marriage crisis did not affect money.
I remained with Caroline temporarily.
Richard stayed in the house.
We split ordinary expenses through attorneys while deciding whether separation would become divorce.
Then Susan mailed me copies of every communication she had received over two years.
One detail stood out.
The fake Amanda account had told them:
Please stop mailing gifts. Richard says it confuses her.
That sentence bothered me.
Not we think.
Not I think.
Richard says.
Either Richard was careless—
or someone else had written at least part of the message.
I checked the date.
I had been in Chicago for a four-day work conference.
May you like
Richard was home with Lucy.
And during that same weekend, one of Daniel’s storage bins had supposedly disappeared in the renovation.
