Chapter 3 - The Woman He Chose
Rebecca Sloan did not look surprised when I finished telling her what Julian had done.
That worried me.
She sat behind a mahogany desk in a small but elegant law office forty minutes outside Cedar Hollow. She was probably in her early fifties, with dark hair streaked with silver and the controlled expression of someone who had spent decades listening to people lie.
Garrison sat beside me.
Rebecca tapped her pen against a yellow legal pad.
“He emptied the joint account?”
“Yes.”
“Changed the locks?”
“Yes.”
“Canceled your health insurance?”
“Yes.”
“Removed your access to the vehicle?”
“Yes.”
“And his attorney is claiming you voluntarily abandoned the marital residence?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca leaned back.
“Well.”
I waited.
She smiled faintly.
“Julian Mercer has been very busy creating evidence against himself.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“People sometimes confuse aggression with legal intelligence.”
Garrison's mouth moved slightly, almost a smile.
Rebecca continued.
“Changing locks and restricting access to marital property before a court order is risky. Draining joint assets creates another problem. Falsely claiming abandonment while documenting your exclusion creates a third.”
For the first time in two days, I felt oxygen enter my lungs normally.
“So he can't just take everything?”
“No.”
Julian had spent years making me believe our financial life existed because of him.
Mercer Development had become successful during our marriage, but the original company had begun in our spare bedroom.
I had created invoices.
Managed payroll.
Designed early marketing materials.
Worked full-time elsewhere while helping him build the company at night.
When he got his first major contract, I celebrated harder than he did.
Then the company expanded.
Julian began calling it his business.
Eventually, I stopped correcting him.
Rebecca looked toward Garrison.
“And the other matter?”
He handed her the medical report.
She read it slowly.
Her expression changed.
“Where did this come from?”
“I retained it during an unrelated investigation.”
Rebecca raised her eyebrows.
“Garrison.”
“It's a lawful copy.”
“That wasn't what I asked.”
He said nothing.
Rebecca looked at me.
“How much has he told you about himself?”
“Very little.”
“Typical.”
I turned toward Garrison.
“Everybody keeps saying things like that.”
“You have more important problems.”
“No. I think discovering that my neighbor somehow has confidential medical records belonging to my husband qualifies as important.”
Garrison folded his arms.
Rebecca studied him for a moment.
Then she said, “Tell her enough.”
He looked annoyed.
“You brought her here,” Rebecca reminded him.
After several seconds, Garrison turned toward me.
“I was county sheriff for twelve years.”
“That part I know.”
“Before that, I worked state investigations.”
“What kind?”
“Public corruption. Financial crimes. Organized fraud.”
I stared at him.
“And after you were sheriff?”
“I was appointed to a state oversight commission investigating healthcare fraud.”
That explained the clinic.
“Why does everyone in town think you retired and disappeared?”
“Because that's easier.”
Rebecca interrupted.
“Garrison was never particularly interested in publicity.”
“That's one way of describing it,” she said.
Then she looked directly at me.
“The point is that the medical report can help establish a pattern, but we're not going to use private medical information recklessly. We'll follow proper legal channels.”
I nodded.
“What about Chloe?”
Rebecca's expression sharpened.
“What about her?”
“If Julian's diagnosis is accurate, and he says her pregnancy proves I was the problem...”
“You're wondering whether the baby is his.”
“Yes.”
Rebecca put her pen down.
“Don't chase that.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because your divorce is about your marriage and your assets. Chloe's pregnancy may eventually become relevant, but don't turn your case into revenge.”
The word stung.
“I don't want revenge.”
“Good.”
I looked at the empty ring finger where my wedding band had been until that morning.
“I want the truth.”
Rebecca softened slightly.
“Those are not always the same thing.”
That afternoon, she filed an emergency motion related to marital assets and access to the house.
By evening, Julian called me seventeen times.
I didn't answer.
At eight twenty-three, a message appeared.
What are you doing?
Then:
Call me immediately.
Then:
You had no right to freeze those accounts.
Rebecca had obtained temporary restrictions preventing either of us from moving substantial marital assets until the court reviewed the situation.
I almost laughed.
The accounts Julian had treated as exclusively his suddenly became “ours” when he couldn't access them.
At nine fifteen, someone knocked on Garrison's front door.
He looked through the window.
“Julian.”
My stomach tightened.
“I don't want to see him.”
“You don't have to.”
But I stood anyway.
There was something I needed to stop doing.
Hiding.
Garrison opened the door.
Julian looked past him and saw me.
His face twisted.
“So this is where you've been.”
I walked into the hallway.
“What do you want?”
“You froze my business accounts.”
“No. My attorney filed to protect marital assets.”
“You had no right.”
“I apparently have more rights than you expected.”
Julian looked at Garrison.
“You stay out of this.”
Garrison's voice remained calm.
“She's standing in my house.”
“You've been waiting for this, haven't you?”
Garrison raised an eyebrow.
“For what?”
“For an excuse to involve yourself in my life.”
“Julian,” I said.
He ignored me.
“You stand across the road pretending to be some harmless old cop, watching everyone.”
Garrison smiled faintly.
“You seem nervous.”
Julian stepped closer.
“You think because you wore a badge twenty years ago you can intimidate me?”
“No.”
A pause.
“I think your own records can do that.”
Julian froze.
It lasted less than a second.
But I saw it.
So did Garrison.
“What records?” Julian asked.
I stepped forward.
“The ones from North Valley Fertility.”
All the color disappeared from his face.
That was the first time I knew beyond any doubt that the report was real.
“You went through my medical history?”
“You went through mine first.”
“Emma, you don't understand what you're doing.”
“No. For six years, I didn't understand what you were doing.”
He looked at Garrison again.
“You gave her something.”
Garrison didn't respond.
Julian's eyes returned to me.
“That report doesn't mean what you think.”
“Then explain it.”
“It was preliminary.”
“The conclusion says severe male-factor infertility.”
“Doctors make mistakes.”
“And yet somehow all the reports I saw said you were completely normal.”
Julian's breathing became shallow.
“Who else has seen it?”
I almost answered.
Garrison stopped me with a glance.
That told me something else.
Julian wasn't simply embarrassed.
He was frightened.
Rebecca had warned me not to turn the divorce into revenge.
So instead of accusing him of anything, I asked the question that had been burning inside me.
“Does Chloe know?”
Julian's jaw clenched.
“Stay away from her.”
“I didn't say I was going near her.”
“She's pregnant. She doesn't need stress.”
Something inside me snapped.
“Neither did I.”
He stared at me.
“I was taking hormone injections while you were sleeping with her.”
“Emma—”
“You watched me blame myself.”
His voice dropped.
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why? Afraid someone might hear the truth?”
Julian looked toward Garrison.
Then back at me.
“This marriage was already dead.”
“Then you should have buried it honestly.”
That landed.
I saw it in his face.
For years, Julian had always had the last word.
Not that night.
He turned and walked toward his car.
At the driveway he stopped.
“You're making a mistake.”
I called after him.
“No, Julian.”
He looked back.
“My mistake lasted ten years.”
He drove away.
I stood in Garrison's doorway trembling so hard I had to grip the frame.
Garrison waited until the headlights disappeared.
“You okay?”
“No.”
It was the first completely honest answer I had given anyone.
He nodded.
“Good answer.”
I laughed despite myself.
The following morning, I traveled to Boston for the medical appointment Garrison had arranged.
I expected another clinic.
Another sterile room.
Another doctor telling me all the things my body had failed to do.
Instead, Dr. Naomi Keller spent nearly an hour reviewing my previous records.
Then she looked at me over her glasses.
“Emma, why were you told you were infertile?”
The question stunned me.
“Because I couldn't get pregnant.”
“That isn't a diagnosis.”
“My former clinic said I had diminished ovarian reserve.”
“Your numbers were lower than average at one point, but not catastrophically low. Your later results improved.”
I stared at her.
“What are you saying?”
“I'm saying that based on what I'm seeing, I would never have described you as unable to conceive.”
My chest tightened.
“But I underwent surgeries.”
“I see that.”
“And years of treatment.”
“I see that too.”
“Were they necessary?”
Dr. Keller paused.
The pause told me everything.
“Some interventions were reasonable,” she said carefully. “Others deserve review.”
I looked out the window because I suddenly couldn't look at anyone.
Garrison was waiting outside.
He had insisted that the appointment remain private unless I invited him.
I appreciated that more than he knew.
Dr. Keller continued.
“I'd like to run new testing before reaching conclusions.”
“Could I still have children?”
She smiled gently.
“Emma, I cannot promise pregnancy. No ethical doctor can. But nothing in the records I'm seeing justifies telling you motherhood was impossible.”
I cried.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Tears simply came because six years of grief suddenly had nowhere to go.
For years I had asked why my body had betrayed me.
Now I realized someone else might have betrayed me instead.
Three weeks later, the new tests came back.
Dr. Keller called me personally.
My reproductive health was considerably better than I had been led to believe.
There were options.
Real options.
For the first time in years, the future did not feel closed.
That evening, I found Garrison sitting on his back porch with Duke sleeping beside him.
I sat down.
“The doctor says I may still be able to have children.”
He looked toward me.
“That's good.”
“That's all?”
He smiled.
“What would you prefer? Fireworks?”
I laughed.
Then my smile faded.
“You knew there was a possibility.”
“I suspected.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because you're not evidence in somebody else's investigation.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means your life belongs to you. I wasn't going to make promises about your body based on paperwork.”
I studied him.
That was the fundamental difference between Garrison and Julian.
Julian had always decided what truths I could handle.
Garrison gave me information and let me choose.
“I want to pursue treatment,” I said.
“Then do it.”
“Even after everything?”
“Especially after everything.”
I looked across the fields.
“What if it doesn't work?”
“Then you'll still know the decision was yours.”
Those words stayed with me.
Two months later, Rebecca called with another discovery.
Julian had not only drained marital accounts.
Over the previous eighteen months, he had transferred substantial company funds into a second business entity registered in Chloe's brother's name.
And several transfers appeared to coincide with the months Julian had told me Mercer Development couldn't afford my fertility treatment.
Rebecca placed the financial statements in front of me.
“This isn't merely about an affair anymore.”
I stared at the numbers.
“What is it about?”
“Potential concealment of marital assets.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
“Hello?”
A woman's voice came through.
“Emma?”
I recognized it immediately.
Chloe.
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Yes.”
She was crying.
“I need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
A long silence.
Then she said seven words that changed the entire case.
May you like
“I don't think Julian's baby is Julian's.”
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