Chapter 6 - THE SUITCASES WERE PACKED FOR MONDAY, BUT CELESTE STILL NEEDED MY SIGNATUREMichael, my attorney, explained something important.
Celeste's plan was not legally complete.
Lakehurst could assess Sophie.
It could not simply take residence of my child without proper parental authorization.
Celeste knew that.
She still needed me.
That raised the real question.
How did she expect to get my signature by Monday?
The answer came from the wedding schedule.
Sunday night:
Family dinner.
Monday morning:
Lakehurst assessment visit.
Tuesday:
Final wedding-menu meeting.
Friday:
Business trip to London.
Celeste had arranged everything around my calendar.
I called her once.
Recorded only according to my attorney's advice and applicable rules? No.
I did not play games.
My attorney attended by conference call.
“Why Monday?”
Celeste sounded tired.
“Because it was available.”
“No.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
“You were never going to deal with Sophie.”
“Deal with her?”
“You always postpone difficult decisions.”
“So you made one for me.”
“I researched.”
“You packed her bags.”
“Because you would've said yes once you saw how serious it was.”
There.
Future consent.
Again.
“You thought I'd send my daughter away after one assessment?”
“I thought you'd finally see what she's doing to us.”
Us.
Not herself.
Us.
I asked:
“What was supposed to happen Sunday?”
Silence.
“Celeste.”
“She was going to have another meltdown.”
The answer chilled me.
“How did you know?”
“Because she always does when the wedding comes up.”
“What were you planning?”
“Nothing.”
Then:
“I was going to give her Mara's wedding album.”
I stopped.
“What?”
The album.
One of the boxes behind the locked door.
Celeste had removed it from Sophie's room weeks earlier.
She planned to return it Sunday during the family dinner.
Why?
According to her:
“To show her we aren't erasing her mother.”
But Sophie had been told the album was gone because I wanted Mara's things removed.
If Celeste suddenly produced it during a tense conversation about the wedding, Sophie would almost certainly react.
Cry.
Accuse.
Maybe scream.
Then Celeste would say:
See?
The wedding destabilizes her.
Monday assessment.
Structured placement.
Problem solved.
I felt sick.
“Were you trying to provoke her?”
“No.”
“Were you expecting her to react?”
“Yes.”
“That's the same thing.”
“No.”
Her voice hardened.
“I wanted you to see what I see.”
There.
That was the closest she came to admitting intent.
She needed me to witness the Sophie she had already described to professionals.
So she planned a situation likely to produce it.
Not a fake event.
A manufactured pressure point.
Then I asked:
“Why did you throw the rabbit?”
She became quiet.
“What?”
“The rabbit.”
“It was filthy.”
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why?”
“Because every time she's upset, she clings to something from Mara.”
The rabbit was not just a toy.
It was connection.
Mother.
Me.
Home before Celeste.
She hated its function.
“I wanted her to stop using grief as a weapon.”
May you like
I hung up.
Because some sentences do not improve with further conversation.
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