Chapter 4
The next two weeks were a whirlwind.
I hired a full-time nurse and a housekeeper for the cottage.
Emma did nothing but rest.
Read.
Talked to the baby.
Painted watercolors of the lake from the bedroom window.
Her color came back.
The bruise on her side faded from purple to yellow to nothing.
Her blood pressure stabilized.
She started smiling again.
The real smile.
The one I’d fallen in love with.
The one I hadn’t seen in months.
Behind the scenes, Richard and his team went to work.
The forensic accountant finished his report in ten days.
The final number was higher than I’d thought.
Fifty-eight thousand, four hundred and twelve dollars.
Stolen over eight months.
Every transaction traced.
Every dollar accounted for.
Tyler’s account.
Margaret’s credit cards.
Cash withdrawals they couldn’t explain.
Hotel receipts from Nashville, Memphis, Atlanta.
All while I was at work.
All while Emma was home alone with her.
Richard filed the civil suit immediately.
Conversion.
Fraud.
Breach of fiduciary duty.
Intentional infliction of emotional distress.
Assault and battery.
We asked for the full amount stolen.
Plus damages.
Plus legal fees.
Plus punitive damages.
Total: $1.2 million.
Then we filed the restraining orders.
Permanent.
Five hundred yards.
No contact.
No phone calls.
No texts.
No third-party messages.
Margaret and Tyler were both served at the small apartment they’d rented together in Kentucky after she’d made bail.
I didn’t go.
I didn’t want to see them.
Didn’t want to hear their voices.
Didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.
The criminal case moved slower.
The DA’s office picked it up.
Felony theft over $10,000.
Aggravated assault on a pregnant woman.
Two very serious charges.
Each carrying up to fifteen years in Tennessee state prison.
Tyler flipped fast.
As soon as he realized he was looking at real prison time, he rolled over on his mother completely.
Gave the police full statements.
Text messages.
Voice memos.
Everything.
Admitted it had all been her idea.
She’d told him Ethan owed them.
Said I’d never notice a few thousand here and there.
Said Emma was “weak” and “easy to control.”
Said if they played it right, they’d have the whole house and all my money within five years.
He kept every message.
Every plan.
Every cruel word she’d ever said about Emma.
About me.
About our son.
The DA loved it.
Open and shut case.
Margaret was offered a plea deal.
Eight years in prison.
Full restitution.
No parole.
She turned it down flat.
Said she’d take her chances with a jury.
Said no jury in Tennessee would ever convict a poor widowed mother on the word of her ungrateful son and his foreign wife.
She was wrong.
But she wouldn’t learn that for a while.
I sold the big house on Magnolia Lane.
I couldn’t bear to go back.
Couldn’t walk past that marble floor.
Couldn’t sit in that leather armchair.
Too many bad memories.
It sold in twelve days.
Full asking price.
Cash.
A young couple expecting twins.
They walked through once.
Fell in love.
I signed the papers without a single regret.
We kept the lake cottage.
Added on.
A nursery for Henry.
A big studio for Emma to paint in.
A wrap-around porch with a swing.
We planted apple trees.
Built a playset for the future.
Made it ours.
No extra bedrooms for visiting mothers or brothers.
No guest suite.
Just us.
And whoever we chose to let in.
Emma was seven and a half months along when we moved into the finished addition.
She stood in the middle of the nursery.
Ran her hand over the soft yellow walls.
Looked at me with tears in her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said. “For saving us.”
I pulled her close.
Kissed the top of her head.
May you like
Kissed our son kicking beneath her heart.
“No, baby,” I said. “Thank you. For being strong enough to survive it. For giving me a second chance to be the husband and father you both deserve. I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you. I promise.”
