Chapter 4 - WHAT MY BEST FRIEND HAD BEEN COLLECTING
Claire arrived at Rachel’s house at seven the next morning.
She wore jeans, an old Rutgers sweatshirt and no engagement ring. She had always removed jewelry when nervous, twisting her bare fingers together until the knuckles turned pink.
Rachel stayed in the kitchen while Claire and I sat in the living room.
“How long?” I asked.
Claire stared at the carpet. “Since January.”
The first security-code entry had been January 18.
Three days after she had promised to become my daughter’s godmother.
“Why the apartment?”
“Damon said he was going to separate after the baby came. He said leaving while you were pregnant would make you spiral.”
I slid the bank statements across the coffee table.
“He used our savings to pay for it.”
Claire looked at the transfers twice. “He told me it came from his commission account.”
“You believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
Her honesty hurt more than another denial would have.
Claire admitted Damon had told her our marriage had become an arrangement after the miscarriages. He said I no longer touched him, no longer trusted him and intended to move in with Rachel once I felt strong enough.
Every lie had contained a recognizable piece of my life.
Then Claire said, “He was scared you’d keep the baby from him.”
My attorney’s warning returned to me.
“What did you do to help him?”
Claire’s eyes moved toward the kitchen doorway.
“Nora—”
“What did you give him?”
She reached into her bag and removed a thin spiral notebook.
Inside were dates, times and short descriptions of my worst moments.
Nora called crying at 2:14 a.m.
Nora said she didn’t feel safe driving.
Nora forgot whether she took her vitamin.
Nora said she wanted to disappear for one day.
The sentences came from conversations I had believed were private.
Claire had stripped away every explanation: the migraine, the icy roads, the fear after a difficult ultrasound, the exhaustion of grieving two pregnancies while carrying a third.
“Damon said we needed a record,” she whispered. “Only in case you tried to shut him out.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
Claire did not answer.
Near the back of the notebook, several pages had been torn away. The remaining paper bore deep impressions from whatever had been written above it.
Rachel brought me a pencil.
When I shaded the page sideways, words emerged from the pressure marks.
Primary residential custody.
Unstable maternal behavior.
Claire as childcare support.
Claire watched me read her name.
May you like
“He said that was temporary,” she said.
But the fear on her face told me she had known exactly what role Damon was creating for her.
