Chapter 3 - The petition
Caroline wanted Odelia to live with her.
That was not inherently sinister.
She was Odelia’s mother.
She loved her.
Her new husband Thomas had taken a position in Raleigh, North Carolina.
Caroline worked remotely as a medical editor.
They planned to move in four months.
Under our current parenting arrangement, she could move herself.
Taking Odelia was different.
She needed either my agreement or court approval to modify custody and relocate our daughter.
We had spoken about North Carolina.
Casually.
Two months earlier.
Caroline said:
“Thomas may get transferred.”
I answered:
“That’s a big move.”
She said:
“We haven’t decided anything.”
Apparently they had decided.
I was going to be served with a petition seeking permission for Odelia to relocate primarily with Caroline, with me receiving extended summer, holidays, and scheduled travel.
Again:
Not evil.
Parents litigate relocation.
Courts decide.
The problem was the evidence being assembled.
Caroline said:
“My lawyer didn’t tell your mother to record anything.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Caroline.”
“I’m serious.”
“Did you tell Mom you needed proof Odelia was unhappy with me?”
“No.”
“Did you tell her you were filing?”
“Yes.”
There.
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
Before she told me the move was definite.
“Why did she know before me?”
Caroline sounded ashamed.
“I asked what she thought.”
“My mother.”
“Yes.”
“About taking her granddaughter twelve hours away from her son.”
“I know how that sounds.”
“Do you?”
Caroline whispered:
“She said you would fight even if relocation was better for Odelia.”
I laughed once.
Morwenna heard and looked offended.
“She said you work too much.”
“I work.”
“She said Odelia spends too much time with sitters.”
“She spends two afternoons a week with Mom and one with after-school care.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Leander, stop.”
I shut up.
Then Caroline said:
“I did not know Morwenna was deliberately provoking her.”
“Would you have used the videos?”
“I had already given them to my attorney.”
My throat tightened.
“Jesus.”
“My attorney has not filed them.”
“Yet.”
“No.”
“Who is your attorney?”
“Rachel Stein.”
I knew the name vaguely.
Family law.
Good reputation.
Not the sort of person likely to instruct a grandmother to terrorize a child for evidence.
That was reassuring.
A little.
I asked:
“Did your attorney know how the videos were made?”
“No.”
“Does she know they came from my mother?”
“Yes.”
“Does she know my mother is your private source?”
Caroline went quiet.
That phrasing hit.
“She knows Morwenna sent them.”
“Do you know why Mom said ‘they want your daughter scared’?”
“What?”
I repeated it.
Caroline went silent for so long I checked the screen.
Still connected.
“I never said that.”
“Who is they?”
“I don’t know.”
“Thomas?”
“No.”
“Your lawyer?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then?”
“I don’t know.”
May you like
I believed she did not know everything.
That did not mean she knew nothing.
