“You threw her out,” Marcus continued. “You froze her money. You refused to hear her. If you suddenly appear at her door with power, money, lawyers and security, what do you think she’ll feel?”
I knew the answer.
Fear.
So I did something I should have done a long time ago.
I gave Laura control.
My attorney contacted a nonprofit family advocate and asked them to reach out to her.
Laura rejected the first meeting.
Then the second.
On the third attempt, the advocate was permitted to tell her one thing:
“Mr. Whitmore has discovered evidence showing that someone intercepted communications from the hospital and may have fabricated evidence during your divorce.”
Laura agreed to twenty minutes.
Public place.
Advocate present.
No Serena.
No security team inside.
No surprise contact with the twins.
I accepted everything.
We met at a diner beside Interstate 40.
I arrived thirty minutes early.
Laura arrived exactly on time.
The moment she walked through the door, I stood.
She stopped.
Her eyes hardened.
I sat down again.
The twins were in a double stroller.
One slept.
The other stared at me with enormous gray-green eyes.
My eyes.
Laura sat across from me.
Her advocate took the chair beside her.
I had rehearsed a hundred sentences.
Every one sounded pathetic now.
So I chose the only honest one.
“I’m not going to ask you to forgive me.”
Laura’s expression barely changed.
“Good.”
I nodded.
“I found the hospital records.”
Nothing.
“The calls.”
Her mouth tightened.
“The money transfers.”
Still nothing.
“The necklace.”
That did it.
She looked away.
I placed copies of the records between us.
“I know someone framed you.”
Laura gave a small laugh.
It was empty.
“Congratulations.”
My throat tightened.
“I deserve that.”
“You deserve worse.”
“I know.”
Her eyes flashed.
“No, Grant. Stop saying you know.”
People nearby glanced toward us.
Laura lowered her voice.
“You don’t know what it was like.”
I said nothing.