Chapter 3
I picked up the statement and held it under the kitchen light.
My first name slanted the way it always did. My last name ended with a long stroke. I could see why someone glancing at it might believe I had signed.
“I didn’t write this.”
“I know,” Nia said.
I lowered the page. “Who did?”
She looked at her hands.
“Vanessa prepared it. She said the apartment manager wanted proof we had discussed Ava’s move.”
“Did you sign my name?”
Nia shook her head. “Vanessa said it was only a sample for me to show you.”
“It has my signature.”
“I didn’t know she had put that on it until tonight.”
I wanted to believe her. I also remembered her hiding the phone when I entered the bedroom.
“Have you given this to anyone?”
“No. It hasn’t left the house.”
I photographed every page on the table and sent the images to Priya. Then I handed the statement back to Nia.
“Don’t use it.”
“I won’t.”
“Do you still intend to move Ava on Monday?”
“I canceled the plan.”
“You had boxes at your mother’s.”
“I know.”
She rubbed her forehead. “I wanted to leave. I didn’t know how to tell you without another fight.”
“We haven’t had a fight about Westbridge. You never told me it existed.”
Nia’s eyes filled. “Everything between us has felt like a fight for months.”
I understood that feeling. Our conversations had become careful and strained. I had asked her to stay in the marriage when she was trying to tell me she might want to leave it.
“You can decide where you live,” I said. “Ava’s school and time with me are decisions we need to work out.”
Nia nodded. “I see that now.”
I looked down at the signature again. “Why was Vanessa doing this for you?”
“She helped me find the apartment.”
“Why is she involved in our parenting decisions?”
Nia closed her eyes.
“I told her more than I told you. She knew how unhappy I was.”
I waited for the rest. She didn’t offer it.
“Is there something else between you?” I asked.
Nia’s face went still. “Marcus—”
“Tell me.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
For a moment, the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic seemed impossibly loud.
“How long?”
“Since May.”
Four months. She had asked me to move out six weeks ago.
I thought of Vanessa sitting at our table, asking Ava about school. I thought of Nia’s phone turned facedown in the bedroom. The truth hurt, but I needed to hear it from her.
“Does Ava know?”
“No. She thinks Vanessa is my friend.”
“Does Denise know?”
“No.”
I stood up and walked to the window. Ava’s bicycle leaned against the fence, exactly where I had left it the last time I fixed her chain.
Nia came closer but kept her distance.
“I was going to tell you,” she said.
“You were going to move first.”
“I was afraid you’d try to keep Ava from me.”
“I’ve never threatened that.”
“I know.”
I turned back. “You should have trusted me enough to talk about our daughter.”
She began crying. I had imagined this conversation so many times during our separation. In none of those imagined versions had I known she was with Vanessa.
I asked if I could check on Ava before I left. Nia nodded.
Ava was asleep with one arm over her head and a book open beside her. I pulled the blanket up over her shoulder. I wanted to carry her out of the room and hold on to the life we had before the kitchen table was covered in papers.
I left the book where it was and went downstairs.
“I’ll pick her up tomorrow after school, as planned,” I told Nia. “We’re going to my brother’s for dinner.”
“Okay.”
“And I’m calling Priya in the morning.”
Nia looked at the statement in her hand. “I understand.”
At my brother Julian’s apartment, I told him what had happened. He let me talk until I ran out of words, then made tea neither of us drank.
“Where is Ava right now?” he asked.
“At home, asleep.”
“Then get some rest. You’ll need to be there for her tomorrow.”
He was right. I lay down on his sofa and stared at the ceiling.
Early the next morning, Priya called. She had seen the photographs. She told me to keep the original message thread, write down what Nia had said, and avoid making any agreement about the move until we understood the statement.
She also asked whether Nia had the document.
“She does.”
“Ask her to preserve it. I’ll contact her about that and the school request.”
I sent Nia the message Priya suggested. She replied that the paper was in a folder and she would keep it.
Then another message arrived, this time from Vanessa.
You should have spoken to me before frightening Nia with a lawyer.
I stared at the screen. I had never given Vanessa permission to speak for my wife. I sent the message to Priya and did not answer.
At three o’clock, I picked Ava up from school. She ran toward me holding a paper crown she had made in class.
“Dad! I’m in the front row for the concert.”
“I’ll be there.”
She handed me the crown to keep safe. As we walked to the car, she asked if I knew why Grandma Denise had boxes of her clothes.
I stopped beside the open car door.
“What did Grandma say?”
“She said Mom asked her to keep them. Are we moving?”
I knelt to her height. “Your mom and I are talking about some plans. Nobody is moving you without telling you what’s happening.”
Ava searched my face.
May you like
“Will I still go to my school on Monday?”
“Yes,” I said. “You will.”
