Chapter 6
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I told him to stay out of my son’s life.”
That was fair.
“What did Jason say?”
“He said Kayla had told him the test was unreliable.”
I almost laughed.
A court-ordered accredited paternity test.
Unreliable.
Of course.
“And you didn’t correct him?”
“I did.”
“Then why does he still believe her?”
Daniel’s voice hardened.
“That is a question for your husband.”
An hour later, the documents arrived.
Six pages.
Family court.
Pinellas County.
Names.
Dates.
Case numbers.
A genetic testing report.
Probability of paternity: greater than 99.99%.
Daniel Reed.
Biological father.
I printed everything.
Then put it into a large cream-colored envelope.
That became the envelope in my purse.
But I did not confront Jason.
Not yet.
First I called a divorce attorney.
Her name was Lena Castillo.
She had been recommended by a woman from my book club who had gone through a divorce three years earlier.
I sat in Lena’s office the following afternoon.
She read the documents.
Then looked at me over her glasses.
“Does your husband know you know?”
“No.”
“Good.”
That answer surprised me.
“Good?”
“It gives you time to understand your position.”
“I’m not trying to destroy him.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
She folded her hands.
“But your husband has apparently been preparing a new life while still sharing finances with you. That matters.”
Our marriage had always been financially simple.
Joint checking.
Joint savings.
Retirement accounts.
The house.
Jason earned more.
I had worked part-time while Emma was young, then built a successful residential staging business.
Not enormous money.
But mine.
Lena asked for bank statements.
Credit cards.
Tax returns.
Retirement balances.
Property documents.
I went home and started looking.
That was when I discovered the second betrayal.
Money.
There had been transfers.
Small enough not to alarm me.
Two thousand.
Three thousand.
Eight hundred.
Then a larger withdrawal.
$18,500 from our joint savings account four months earlier.
I remembered asking about it.
Jason told me it had gone toward estimated taxes.
I believed him.
There were no estimated taxes.
The money had gone into an account ending in 4412.
Not ours.
Lena’s paralegal helped trace the transfer documentation available in our records.
Jason had labeled it “temporary business reserve.”
But it wasn’t connected to his employer.
I kept digging.
Hotel charges.
Furniture.
A deposit to an apartment complex in Channelside.
Kayla’s address.
The life Jason claimed he was only beginning had already cost our marriage more than thirty thousand dollars.