Tessa called on a rainy Tuesday.
“I think Aaron wants to talk to you,” she said.
I was folding towels in the laundry room.
“Why?”
“He's nervous about what Scott has been saying.”
I did not ask her to get documents.
I did not want anybody sneaking through a spouse's accounts because I was getting divorced.
“Tell him to speak with an attorney if he's worried,” I said. “Leah can explain what records are being requested.”
Tessa paused.
“That's probably the right answer.”
Two days later Aaron contacted Leah through his own lawyer.
He offered to produce records responsive to a lawful request.
It was less exciting than a secret meeting in a parking lot.
It was also safer for everyone involved.
The records arrived weeks later.
There were service agreements.
Invoices.
Deposits.
A list of payments Ridgeway had received.
Some appeared tied to actual administrative work.
Others lacked clear supporting materials.
Priya separated them instead of treating every payment as suspicious.
Scott's business had used Ridgeway to process certain expenses and manage subcontractor paperwork.
Aaron had helped set the arrangement up.
But the records also revealed transfers made after Scott had told me the company was struggling and that we needed to cut household costs.
I remembered that conversation.
We had been standing by the refrigerator.
Ellie needed new glasses.
Scott wanted to wait until the next quarter.
I had paid for the appointment from our grocery budget and spent two weeks stretching meals.
Now I looked at the amounts traveling between accounts.
They were not necessarily money I could personally claim.
But they showed that the financial picture he had presented to me was incomplete.
At our next meeting, Leah explained the difference between discovering a discrepancy and proving intentional deception.
Scott could challenge the accountant's conclusions.
He could offer explanations.
There might be taxes or liabilities we had not seen.
“We need accurate records,” she said. “Not a dramatic villain.”
That was harder to accept than I expected.
I wanted the numbers to settle my hurt.
Numbers were not built to do that.
Meanwhile, Tessa asked if we could have coffee.
I agreed, but I told her I wouldn't discuss privileged legal strategy.
We met at a bakery near the library.
She kept both hands around her mug.
“Aaron told me Scott said you were signing the house away,” she said.
“I didn't.”
“I know that now.”
She looked exhausted.
“I don't want to lose my relationship with your kids over this.”
“You don't have to.”
“What if Aaron gets pulled into court?”
“Then he should tell the truth about what he knows.”
She stared at the table.
“That sounds so simple when you say it.”
“It won't feel simple while he's doing it.”
We talked about the children instead.
Tessa asked about Ellie's orchestra concert.
I gave her the date.
She promised not to turn the audience into a family debate.
That Saturday, Scott came to Ben's soccer game.
He stood by the far end of the field.
We did not sit together.
When Ben scored, Scott jumped up so fast he spilled his coffee.
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Scott noticed and grinned.
For a few seconds, we were simply two parents pleased about a goal.
Then the final whistle blew, and we returned to separate cars.
Ben ran between us with red cheeks.
“Did you see?”
“Yes,” we said together.
He looked delighted.
I wished we had learned years earlier that we could agree on one sentence without fighting over everything around it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: The House Appraisal Forced Me to Ask Whether Keeping Our Home Was Actually Possible
The Night Scott Put Divorce Papers Beside Our Dinner and Mistook My Signature for Surrender
Part 8 of 16
