September brought sharper mornings.
The air lost its summer heaviness.
School settled into a routine, and our temporary parenting schedule began.
Scott had alternating weekends and a midweek dinner.
He could call the children at reasonable times.
Both of us were expected to share important school and health information.
On paper, it looked manageable.
In practice, it required more patience than either of us felt.
The first Wednesday, Scott arrived late.
Ben had already put on his shoes.
Ellie sat at the kitchen table finishing algebra.
At six twenty, he finally texted that he was outside.
I did not lecture him in front of the children.
I wrote down the actual pickup time.
The next week he sent a message asking to collect them two hours early.
Ellie had orchestra rehearsal.
I offered a later pickup.
Scott accused me of sabotaging his time.
I forwarded the rehearsal calendar to him and stopped arguing.
At her next lesson, Ellie's music teacher pulled me aside.
“She seems distracted,” she said. “Nothing alarming, but I wanted you to know.”
I asked Ellie about it on the drive home.
She stared out the window.
“Dad keeps asking who you're meeting.”
“I'm meeting my lawyer sometimes.”
“He thinks there's a man.”
“There isn't.”
“He wants me to check your phone.”
I pulled into the library parking lot before answering.
“You do not have to investigate either parent,” I said.
She twisted the zipper on her violin case.
“He says it's the only way he'll know the truth.”
“The adults can ask each other questions directly. You shouldn't have to carry them.”
That evening I wrote Scott a brief message.
Please stop asking Ellie to report on my private activities. Parenting communication should come to me or through counsel if necessary.
His reply arrived immediately.
You're turning them against me.
I saved it.
Then I helped Ellie study for a math quiz.
Leah encouraged us to consider a parenting communication application if ordinary texts continued to escalate.
It would keep schedules and messages organized.
Neither of us would have to rely on memory after a difficult exchange.
I agreed.
Scott called it unnecessary bureaucracy.
Then he started using it.
The biggest argument came over a weekend birthday party.
Ben's best friend, Mason, had invited him to a Saturday afternoon gathering.
It was Scott's weekend.
Ben was excited and nervous about asking.
I sent Scott the invitation and offered to take Ben if transportation was inconvenient.
He replied that his parenting time was not negotiable.
I accepted that it was his decision during his scheduled time.
But I asked him to talk with Ben about the party instead of using the invitation to make a point at me.
He did.
Ben attended the party for two hours, and Scott picked him up afterward.
It was a tiny compromise.
It did not make us friends.
It made Ben happy.
One afternoon, the children's school counselor invited me to discuss adjustment after separation.
I asked whether Scott could attend as well.
He agreed, and we sat on opposite sides of a small room with a jar of colored pencils in the middle.
The counselor explained that children often felt pressured to protect both parents.
She suggested consistent answers about schedules and permission to express mixed feelings.
Scott folded his arms.
“Are they saying I'm a bad father?”
“No,” the counselor answered. “They're saying this is hard.”
I watched him look down at his hands.
For a moment, he seemed almost tired enough to listen.
Afterward he walked with me to the parking lot.
“I didn't know Ellie was that upset,” he said.
“You can ask her how she's doing without asking what I'm doing.”
He nodded once.
I did not assume he would remember.
But the following week, Ellie came back from dinner with him smiling.
They had visited a used bookstore.
He had bought her a novel she wanted.
He had not asked about my phone.
I wrote that down too, in the ordinary way parents remember improvements.
Not every change had to be a disaster.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: A Records Request Connected the Unlisted Transfers to Scott’s Company and His Brother’s Building
The Night Scott Put Divorce Papers Beside Our Dinner and Mistook My Signature for Surrender
Part 6 of 16
