~Author's note~
Trigger warning: This entire chapter contains disturbing situations. If you have PTSD or suffered from domestic abuse, it may be best to skip this entire chapter.
This chapter is a flashback. I considered breaking it into two parts because of its length, but I believe it works best read as a one shot. It starts with Christian being four years old. In a previous chapter, Christian was about seven years old when Grace and Carrick went to counseling. If you find a contradiction, I'm asking you to please suspend this thought until the very end.
***This mega chapter contains writing errors***
Chapter twenty-two
Twenty-two years ago
"What are you suggesting? Not having a birthday cake this year?"
"I don't want a repeat of last year. Candles blowing, germs flying. I don't know how you missed it. Oh, wait, I remember now. You were too busy hiding behind the camera, that's how."
"Our son has been looking forward to making a birthday wish for days now. But, who cares? Let's go ahead and cancel the cake," Grace replied pointedly.
"Think outside the box, Grace. Christian still gets to blow the candles," Carrick said as if he were speaking to a wayward adolescent. "We'll just have another cake waiting in the wings," he went on rather charmingly. "One day, hopefully, someone will invent a device designed to trap the germs while blowing out the flames."
The day of the party
"Make a wish, make a wish!" a group of children clamored in a circle around the cake.
Christian looked up expectantly, searching for his parents' faces among the crowd.
His eyes instantly connected with his mother's. His smile froze the second his gaze shifted to his father.
His daddy wasn't paying attention.
Four candles burned low on the birthday cake. Wax was starting to build around the blue frosting. Christian wished for two remote control cars so that he and daddy could race them together. Then, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and blew out the candles.
The candles flickered and appeared to go out, but the flames came right back.
"Try again!" Someone shouted.
After a moment of bewilderment, Christian took a deep breath and puffed out his cheeks.
"It's a trick candle!" Elliot, two years his senior, chuckled as the flames came back to life. "You'll never get it!"
"No, I want to do it!" Christian elbowed Elliot, who was leaning in too close to the cake.
"Elliot, let your cousin blow the candles. He doesn't need your help!" Christian heard uncle Robert say.
In response, Elliot crossed his arms over his chest and stormed off.
When Christian got ready to blow the candles again, he scanned the room, searching for his parents' faces. He found his mother, but his father was out of sight.
Out of the corner of her eye, Grace spotted her husband checking his pager before disappearing. She continued snapping pictures, determined to capture the moment. Her 8-megapixel camera was the best money could buy, even if the viewing screen was tiny.
At her first opportunity, she slipped away from the party, looking for him.
"Carrick?"
Her other half gave her a cursory glance while continuing to speak into his brick-sized cellular phone in an animated tone.
"Carrick, please. It's our son's birthday, we don't have any pictures of us together with Christian."
Carrick brought a finger to his lips, signaling for Grace to wait.
Five minutes. That was all; five effing minutes.
What was so hard about that?
Grace waited about a minute. Giving up, she stormed out of the room and rejoined the party.
Before she knew it, it was time to open the gifts, and her dear husband reappeared next to her.
"Look! Mommy? Daddy? It's a car!" he squealed enthusiastically. It was a red mustang style car with a yellow antenna.
Grace was enthusiastic while Carrick mumbled something unintelligible in response.
Sitting next to Christian, Elliot sulked. "I want a car like that!"
"Elliot," Robert glared at his son in reprimand. "You got several remote control cars at home. Next time, we'll bring yours, so you and Christian can race together."
...
"Gladys and I need to get going."
"Thanks for coming, Robby," Grace smiled at her brother-in-law. He was a fine man; his only problem was his unhealthy relationship with the bottle.
The sound of laughter from the party room caught their attention. They both turned. A group of people had gathered around Gladys. Grace wasn't particularly fond of her sister-in-law; aside from motherhood, they had little in common. Gladys was a career woman who loved drawing attention to herself, especially male attention.
Robert gave Grace a half hug. "It was a good party. The boys had fun." He smiled at her. Something in her expression made him prove further. "You look upset."
Grace simply shrugged in response.
"He doesn't mean it, you know. Deep down, he cares about you, Grace. He had it tough when we were growing up. Dad was next to impossible to please."
It was so kind of him to make excuses for his brother. If only he Robert knew that Carrick frequently made disparaging remarks about him behind his back.
"I learned early on it was pointless. Our dad is gone, but Cary is trapped, running around in circles like a rat in a maze. I don't think he realizes it, though."
"You're a good man, Rob."
"No, I'm not. I'm a hopeless drunk."
"You're doing the best you can. Last I heard, you've been going faithfully to the AA meetings."
He nodded. "Every week. Six-month anniversary coming right up," Robert added sheepishly.
"I'm happy to see you're taking care of yourself. " Grace bridged the distance between them and put a hand on his shoulder. "I really am."
In response, Robert looked at Grace and, without warning, pulled her into a fierce hug. Grace let herself relax.
The rough sound of a clearing of a throat abruptly broke their embrace.
Gladys was standing at the threshold, arms crossed, staring at them with a scowl on her face.
"We got to go," she said to Robert. "Thank you, Grace, it was a lovely party," she added, her voice devoid of warmth.
A few days later
Christian was having fun racing his remote control car all over the house.
At the end of the hall, he turned the wheel sharp toward his daddy's home office.
The car made a loud bump when it crashed against a wall, failing to round the corner.
Oh, oh.
"Christian, go play somewhere else... I'm busy."
"Can you play with me, daddy? I got another car. Be right back!"
"No, I can't. I'm busy right now," Carrick said, but Christian was already halfway out the door.
Grace
poked her head through the door as Christian chased after his remote control car. "He's excited about his new car and wanted to show you."
"You have no idea how busy I am."
"You're going back to the office?" Grace said with alarm as he started gathering his papers.
"I cannot afford to lose the Emerson account. They're threatening to pull their business elsewhere."
Grace blinked in disbelief. "The transportation museum, we got VIP tickets, remember? Christian has been looking forward to it all week."
Carrick looked at his watch. "What time was that again?"
She exhaled deeply. "Don't tell me you forgot."
"Just tell me," he groaned impatiently. I'll try my best to make it."
"It's at 5:30."
….
It was a little past five, and there was no sign of Carrick. She had tried calling, but he wasn't returning any of her calls.
As minutes went by, it was starting to look like a replay of the same old story: her husband would be showing up late, if he showed up at all.
"Okay, time to buckle up," Grace said in a sing-song as she lifted Christian onto his car seat.
"Where's daddy?"
"Daddy is running a bit late. He says he's meeting us a little later at the museum."
She smiled at her son through the rearview mirror and turned on the engine. It wasn't until she started driving that she dropped the act and let her thoughts wander.
…..
It was so like Carrick to bail out at the last possible moment.
"We missed you at the museum," Grace mumbled bitterly. She was tired of living the life of a single mother while being married.
Grace heard his lengthy explanation without listening. It was always about work, and she was sick of it. Anger and resentment bubbled inside her.
"You could at least have called to tell me you weren't going to make it."
"I did the best I could," he shrugged. "Besides, I don't believe my presence was all that necessary."
Grace mentally kicked herself for allowing herself to believe that this time things would be different.
"There's always something, isn't it?" She pointed out with unmistakable bitterness in her voice.
"I'm doing all this for you and Christian.
You know how things were when I took over the business."
"I feel like I don't have a husband. Even when you're here, you're distracted. You're never fully present. Most days, you cannot even give me five minutes of your time!?"
"Listen, I'm the provider in this family. And I'm doing a hell of a good job if you ask me. I have a company to run. What do you want me to do? Put Robert in charge of the company my father built with his bare hands?" He scoffed. "Maybe my dear brother can run the company on the side in-between AA meetings? What do you think, sweetheart?"
His lips curved into an ugly snarl.
"We'll be on the streets in the blink of an eye. Is that what you want? You want me to quit and stay home with you all day drinking beer?"
"Don't be ridiculous...I never said you should quit!" Grace replied with increasing agitation in her voice. It always annoyed her when her husband made such over-the-top statements designed to shut her down. "You're never home, you're never with me. . I feel like a dog who gets the smallest of scraps in response to begging. And when you're home, your mind is elsewhere; I feel so disconnected from you."
"Why do you have to be so melodramatic?" Carrick replied with disdain in his voice. "I wish you'd show some appreciation for everything I do for us, for our family."
Grace stared long and hard at her husband. Now, to add insult to injury, he was calling her ungrateful. She was so angry; she couldn't even think of a good comeback.
"You're impossible!"
"Am I? All you do is complain. But you don't understand the burden I carry every day."
"So all I have to do is keep my mouth shut. Never ask for anything. That's what you want, isn't it? What you're asking for is not a marriage." Grace exhaled deeply. "I cannot live like this anymore. I want a divorce."
There, she's said it. She'd rehearsed the words in her head countless times. They rolled off her tongue with apparent ease, despite not having made definite plans.
The massive storm had been brewing on the horizon for a very long time. Time and time again, she ignored the dark clouds, always hoping for a sunny day. Her diminished self-esteem told her that
her own happiness wasn't good enough of a reason to leave. But now that the storm had reached a category five, there was no going back.
"Fine, if that's what you want, so be it," Carrick pierced her with his hard stare. "But I think you'll be sorry, and you will be coming back to me, begging me to take you back."
….
The next day, Grace went into the attic to collect her things. She'd made up her mind; there was no going back now. She'd come into this marriage with nothing. And she was walking away with only a few possessions; she didn't want to owe him anything.
Rummaging through boxes of picture albums, she ran across Glady's passionate love letters. She found them tucked inside a fake decorative book. At first, she had trouble wrapping her head around this. But then, as she read further, there was no denying the obvious. Gladys and Carrick had a long off-and-on relationship.
How could she have been so blind?
"What's this?" She confronted him, throwing the packet of letters in his face with the expertise of a cast member of the Real Housewives throwing glasses of wine at people's faces. "You're having an affair with Gladys? With your brother's wife?"
Once the initial shock wore off, the cheating bastard bent down to pick up the letters. "Where did you get this?" He seemed bewildered as though he had no memory of keeping the incriminating letters.
"Since when? Answer me! She screamed, her tone rising with every word. "Answer me!"
Carrick collected all the letters from the floor and read portions of each one, all while Grace glared at him. At last, he looked up at her with the smoothness of a confidence man.
"I did not have sexual relations with that woman."
"Liar! You son-of-a-bitch! How? How could you do this to me!" Clenching her hands into fists, she beat at his chest furiously. "Get out!"
He caught her fists in his hand, his eyes hitting her with something hard. He quickly gained control by crushing tight against his chest.
"I'm not going anywhere! Do you hear? And neither are you. So I suggest you calm down and stop all this nonsense!"
Grace tried extricating herself, but her struggle only made him hold on tighter.
His lips suddenly crashed against hers, and her body instantly betrayed her. Inside, her bones melted as
surely as a candle left too close to a flame.
"I hate you!" She told him after their frenzied coupling, conflicted. While it was true that she hated him more than ever, she hated herself even more.
…...
The next day, Grace left Grey Manor while Carrick was at work. Over the next few days, he called her many times and pleaded with her to come back. Most times, she didn't bother answering the phone.
Eventually, she agreed to him visiting. How ironic, the bastard suddenly wanted to spend time with their son.
Carrick surveyed her tiny new apartment with a critical eye.
Grace didn't give a damn. Even though the kitchen was the size of a postage stamp, she was happy. The apartment was in a good neighborhood and at a short drive from Christian's pre-school.
"What time are you bringing him back?"
"Around five or six," he replied vaguely.
"I need him back no later than five-thirty. There's a special event at church, and I don't want to be late."
"What time is it over? I can drop him off afterward."
"No. Christian enjoys playing with the other kids."
"Look, I don't see what the big deal is. Is this how it's going to be? You fighting me over everything?"
Christian bounded into the room, full of energy. He was excited about going to the park.
"Why can't mommy come too?" Christian wailed, turning around to take his mother's hand. "Mommy? Pleaaase!"
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I can't. I got a lot of work to do."
Christian looked deeply disappointed. "But we always stop to feed the birds!"
Grace went into the kitchen and brought back a loaf of bread. She then handed it to Carrick. "You and daddy will feed the birds together this time, okay, sweetheart?"
While Christian went to use the bathroom, Carrick browsed Grace's DVD collection. One particular title caught his eye.
Life is Beautiful.
"Did you ever get around to watching this movie?"
Grace shook her head no.
"You should. It's a good one."
…...
At the park, Christian excelled in the energy department, making the other children pale in comparison.
Carrick tried getting some work done on his laptop. Unfortunately, there were too many distractions and interruptions.
An hour later, Carrick couldn't stand it anymore. Looking around, he was far from impressed by the other parents. After listening in on their conversations, he concluded that most of them, especially the women, were morons whose lives revolved around their snotty-nosed
children.
He let his Nokia ring a few times without answering. He figured it was Grace, and he was paying her back for all the times she refused to take his calls. Hopefully, she would soon come to her senses.
Christian fell and scraped his knee. One of the mothers offered loads of sympathy and a first-aid kit. However, Christian kept calling for his mommy, even while the woman bandaged his knee.
His kid was such a momma's boy.
Carrick gritted his teeth and swallowed a litany of unkind remarks ready to roll off his tongue. "Hey, quit crying. It's nothing. The cut is not deep. Just a little blood, but it'll stop."
The woman with the good-samaritan complex applied enough pressure to the wound, and sure enough, the bleeding stopped.
"Thanks," he mumbled half-heartedly without making eye contact. Then, he turned to his son. "Alright, buddy, let's get going."
"I want to go home!" Christian wailed when Carrick pulled into the Grand Hyatt's parking garage.
"We can't go home yet; we're going on an adventure," Carrick said, his voice a sing-song, the same tone his wife used. It was all part of the plan. Right now, he needed the boy to cooperate.
"Can I play with your computer?" Christian asked after he'd explored every crook and cranny.
Carrick was about to say no when an idea flashed in his head.
"How would you like to have your very own laptop?"
Christian's eyes instantly brightened with wide-eyed innocence. "Really? A real computer?"
"Yes, a laptop just like mine," Carrick smiled, and Christian jumped in excitement.
"The game starts now. You have to score 1000 points. What do you say?"
"Yea! I'm gonna win!"
"That's the spirit!" Carrick crouched down to the boy's level. "There are three ways to lose points. One, turning into a big crybaby. Two, telling me you want to see your mommy. Three, saying you're tired and want to go home."
"But I'm tired," Christian whined. "And I wanna go home."
Carrick shook his head disapprovingly. "Don't you wanna win the grand prize?"
"Will the computer look just like yours?" Christian cocked his head suspiciously. He already had a toy computer, and he wasn't about to be that easily fooled this time around.
"Yes, I promise." He took a deep breath and exhaled deeply. "Do we have a deal, then?" He added, raising his hand for a high five.
"Deal!" Christian grinned, jumping in the air, his palm smacking loudly against his father's.
…...
Three hours after Carrick first failed to show up with their son at the appointed time, Grace had dialed his number close to one hundred times. That first night, she stayed up all night, praying, making deals with God.
Please, Lord, bring my baby back. I will do anything you want, anything!
But her prayers seemed to bounce around like hollow words in an empty room.
By the end of the second day, She was full of grief, nauseous, exhausted. It was clear that God was dead. A living God would majestically wave his magic wand and ease her pain in two seconds flat.
Maybe the problem was that God simply didn't care.
More than forty-eight hours without sleep was taking its toll. Grace had an eerie conversation with both of her grandparents. The pair, clad in their Sunday clothes, laughed merrily, blissfully unaware of how badly their bodies had decayed a good twenty years after their deaths.
Averting their gaze, she shifted her attention to the frame her smiling grandmother held in her hands. It was the aged progression picture of Christian, her missing child, ten years into the future.
The monster named fear gripped her heart, choke-holding her. It had whispered too many lies in her ear and was now stronger than she. The lies had crawled from her brain down to her throat. It was rendering her with a distorted vision of the world; it was making her question her own sanity.
Her own screams woke her up, her eyes shooting fearful looks at the doors and windows. Pacing from one room to another, she looked for something to distract herself from her inner turmoil.
Her shaking hands picked up the DVD that her soon-to-be ex-husband had left lying around.
The movie was about a father and a son who survive the horrors of the holocaust. Through humor, wit, and a good imagination, the father re-invents a world of make-believe for his son. He imagines that the holocaust is a game and the winning prize is a war tank.
Life is Beautiful.
Okay, well. Maybe for some people?
But not for me.
And certainly not for the Holocaust victims.
After popping the disc in the player, Grace sat down and watched without seeing. She was motionless, aching, muscles tense. She was sitting and barely breathing, staring into the void of nothingness.
Life on earth is often a violent experience; often, getting through the day seems impossible. It's a struggle to find meaning in the suffering, she mused, closing her eyes as the ending credits rolled in.
…...
On the third day, Grace rose from her inertia. Parking her car a couple of blocks away, she slipped into her former residence and waited. Luckily, Carrick hadn't changed the alarm codes.
She looked for the housekeeper, but she was gone, probably taking advantage of the three-day weekend.
Grace was alone in her anguish. Calling the police had been a waste of time; they told her there was no crime since there was no legal separation or custody order on file. And everyone she knew proved to be as useless as condom machines in the Vatican.
Worst of all, she didn't know what Carrick's plans were as he was still not returning her calls. All she could do was pray he'd be coming home any moment now with their son.
At last, she heard his car pulling into the parking garage. Her heart leaped wildly into action as Carrick stepped out of his Mercedes.
Rage and grief battled within her as she raced forward and caught a glance of Christian sleeping in the backseat of the vehicle, but Carrick prevented her from getting closer.
Slapping him hard across the right side of his face felt immensely satisfying. He reached for her wrist and missed.
"Don't you ever try this again! Or I swear to God I will find you and kill you! She yelled, her hands still fighting him.
Carrick stepped back and held his face, wiping off the blood trail, evidence of the damage her nails had done.
Grace didn't know how long they stood there hauling insults at each other before the police arrived.
"M'am, you need to calm down," a middle-aged officer ushered her to a quiet corner of the garage. By then, another officer had climbed inside the car and was speaking with Christian, who was now awake.
Carrick was now back in the driver seat, his body partially facing the backseat. Both he and the police officer were talking to her little boy.
The other officer listened to her story. Then, he asked her to wait. Sometime later, his partner came forward.
"M'am, I talked to your son. He's doing fine. There was no kidnapping here; the boy thinks he was on an adventure with his father."
"He took him! He was supposed to bring him back three days ago!"
"Your husband says he took your son to different places, but they spent the night here every night."
Grace shook her head. "No, I'm sure he took him. He refuse to answer or return my calls. I called both the house and his cell phone."
"In all honesty, this little dispute between you and your husband falls in a gray area. A judge would need to issue a temporary custody order first thing in the morning."
"Fine, I'll get a lawyer. In the meantime, my son needs to come home with me."
"Here's the thing. Until there's a custody order in place, we will need to take your son into protective custody."
All color drained from Grace's face. "What?"
"I already placed the call to Child Protective Services. They will make sure to find temporary foster placement for him."
No, he couldn't possibly mean that, could he?!
"As long as there is a dispute, the boy belongs in neutral territory."
"Unless one of you agrees to the other parent keeping the child tonight," the other officer stated.
Grace hesitated, fear gripping her heart. She would die first rather than allow Christian to be taken away by strangers. How would he ever recover from such a trauma?
She debated with herself back and forth. For one, she had Christian's passport in her possession.
"But what if he next time he takes him and flees to another state?"
The second officer spoke again. "There will be a patrol officer out here watching the house if it makes you feel any better."
"No," Grace mumbled. "It doesn't. My son needs to come home with me."
"I talked to your little boy," the first officer said, " he told me he wanted to stay with his dad."
The words hit her like a smack in the back of the head.
NO.
Some time passed before a middle-aged woman approached, flashing a badge for child protective services. Wearing a stony expression, she confirmed what the officers had told her. Unless there was an agreement, her job was to take Christian into temporary custody.
"I need to talk to my boy. Please."
The woman exchanged a glance with the other two officers. Then, the first officer escorted her to the vehicle and opened the door, and she climbed in the back seat beside Christian.
Christian greeted her with a big smile, and she pulled him into a fierce hug.
"Mommy, why you crying?"
"I love you, I love you so much," she murmured, showering kisses on his forehead and holding him tight. "Never forget that, okay?"
Christian looked worriedly at his father standing outside the vehicle. "I'm gonna win the game, mommy!
"What game?"
Christian talked excitedly about getting a computer like his daddy's. Grace half-listened, preoccupied with the chatter in her head. How on earth was she going to let go?
Looking out the window, she saw the caseworker staring at Carrick's scarred faced and taking notes.
What an impossible situation, she thought miserably, as she sank into a valley of fresh tears.
Maybe there was something she could still do.
Assuming Carrick still wanted her back, she could pretend everything was fine.
No, she couldn't. The jerk had an affair. How could she condone the unforgivable?
Stealing another glance out the window, she caught sight of her husband deep in conversation with the officers, his stance more arrogant and cocky than ever. The caseworker stood to the side, seemingly waiting.
She was simultaneously furious with herself and drowning in tears.
One of the officers approached the vehicle and kindly offered her a box of tissues. She nodded and opened the door.
In an attempt to pull herself together, she grabbed the tissues and stepped out of the vehicle. She went to blow her nose to the side of the garage. The flood of emotions was making it so difficult to keep a clear head. There was a lot at stake here. For one, she needed to think about what was best for Christian. A lot was riding on this moment.
She turned to the sound of Christian exiting the Mercedes, half-expecting him to come running in her direction. Instead, she watched her child climb into the police cruiser alongside the first officer.
"Mommy, daddy! Look!" Christian sat in the driver's seat, waving excitedly.
Both Carrick and Grace reflexively waved back as though they were watching him on a ride at the county fair.
"Mr. and Mrs. Grey, The CPS worker formally addressed both Grace and Carrick.
"Like I mentioned before, if there's no agreement, I will need to take your child into custody."
"I'm sure none of there's no need to go to such extreme measures.
Mrs. Grey and I will reach an agreement," Carrick said to the caseworker. "Won't we, Grace?"
Grace felt her heart speeding as she met his determined gaze. He was not backing down. Hell would freeze over first. The moon would fall from the sky, and cats would learn how to bark.
Her eyes leaped to the police cruiser. Christian was having fun flashing the sirens. His life, his entire future hinged on this one decision.
There was only one decision she could live with.
"Of course," she said, meeting his gaze decidedly. "Of course we will."
Some day, she would find the way to even the score.
…
The Next day
Carrick and Grace exchanged civil pleasantries when she went to pick up Christian.
Grace didn't think much of it. She had a lot on her mind. Later that morning, she was planning on taking Christian on a playdate with Joshua at the park. The boy's mother, Stephanie, happened to be married to one of Carrick's business associates. The two men had known each other for years, and aside from business interests, they shared a game of golf every now and then.
In the last six months, she and Stephanie had started taking the boys on regular playdates. Usually, the two women got along fine. They discussed the children's antics and everything related to parenting, but they rarely talked about anything too personal.
Things were about to change in their relationship. Grace desperately needed a friend.
And so, with a heavy heart, Grace confided in Stephanie. She shared all the details: the adultery, the breakup, and Grace's deep-seated fears of Carrick fleeing the country with their son.
"This doesn't sound like something Carrick would do," Stephanie said, referring to the kidnapping attempt. "Are you sure you didn't do something to make him act this way?"
"Stephanie? How can you even think...?" Her first instinct was to push aside the hurt, the confusion, and the betrayal she felt. For the longest time, she'd waited for their friendship to reach the next level. It felt very anticlimactic.
Right then, the two boys returned to their mothers, asking for juice. Stephanie reached into her bag and handed the kids two juice boxes each.
"Well, surely, there is something you can do so this doesn't happen again?" She went on cluelessly. "Men are a bit obtuse sometimes, you know? If I didn't let Doug win a fight every once in a while, where would I be?" she chuckled.
If her life were an episode of the Real Housewives, this would be the point in the story where Grace would have the pleasure of throwing a glass of wine on the other woman's face.
Unfortunately, the only thing handy at the moment was the kids' brightly colored juice boxes.
"Come, sweetheart, it's time to go home," Grace grabbed her son's hand.
"Mommy, when can I play with Jason again?" Christian asked, struggling to keep up while Grace marched away, angry tears rolling down her face.
She was stung, shaken to her boots. She couldn't even begin to process this. The only sensible thing to do was to cut Stephanie out of her life for good.
…..
Days later, Grace found herself sitting across from her new lawyer. She was battling waves of acute anxiety; there was so much at stake here.
"He filed first and beat you to the punch. It's a psychological advantage."
"He cheated on me," Grace spoke, the anger in her voice spilling out like a volcano. "I confronted him with the letters. The son-of-a-bitch had the nerve to try to deny it! But I got the letters as proof!"
"Unfortunately, we're in a no-fault state, so adultery has no bearing on settlement or custody issues."
"I feel like a goddamn idiot. I felt alone in this marriage. Every time I tried telling him how I felt, he made me feel as though it was my fault. I should have been more understanding. And all along, he had another woman on the side, his sister-in-law."
The lawyer looked up from her writing pad in acknowledgment. Then, she pulled a book out of her desk drawer. The book was titled: Women Who Love Too Much: When you Keep Wishing and Hoping He'll Change.
"Often, the least committed person in a relationship is the one with the most power," she said, sliding the book toward Grace.
Power?
Grace glanced at the title of the book. She doubted it would help at all.
He took my son," Grace went on, trying to control the tremor in her voice. The experience had been terrifying, too raw. "He took my son...he took him, disappeared with him for three days. He wouldn't return my calls, and I imagined the worst. I thought I was losing my mind. I don't want to go through that again, ever."
"What are you hoping to gain in terms of custody arrangement?"
"I want sole custody. Once the judge listens to my story, I'm sure he will realize my son belongs with me."
The words hung in the air like a heavy sack of potatoes falling on the ground with a loud thump.
Connie Thomson looked up from her writing pad and listened as Grace described the ordeal with the police, her fear of CPS involvement.
"I'm not going to lie to you. I've been doing this for twenty-one years. Your case has all the red flags. It's going to get ugly. The question is, are you prepared?"
Grace chewed her lower lip, conflicted. How could she still go ahead with this divorce and also protect Christian from pain and suffering?
"For some men, their spouse and children are merely possessions. Every day, I take on a new case. It's always the same story with the names changed. It always starts the same way. It's usually the wife, but sometimes it's the husband. They sit there where your sitting, and they tell me how their life changed with the flip of a switch, how one day the person they married became someone they didn't recognize."
The attorney paused before moving to the subject of financial assets.
"I don't care about the money. I just want my son."
"As your lawyer, I must advise we go for a 50/50 split," she looked down at her notes. "Judging by the size of your husband's estate, it is safe to assume he's hiding marital assets."
"I signed a prenuptial agreement."
"I need to see a copy. I don't see one here." She sighed. "You're a stay home parent, which entitles you to spousal and child support. According to these numbers, it would be a substantial amount of your husband's income.
"Whatever happens, I don't want a re-enactment of the War of the Roses."
"I still would want to file a motion for discovery. Mrs. Grey, your son's future is at stake here. If your husband remarries and has other children, your son could wind up disinherited. We would need to set up a trust fund and a life insurance policy listing your child as the beneficiary. Also, since you've been the primary caregiver, the family home should stay in your possession. Whatever you do, you need to stay there."
"I already moved out. I'm living in a two-bedroom apartment now."
Connie Thomson looked over the papers again and clicked her tongue in regret. "You listed the family home address on the forms."
"A habit, I suppose."
The meeting went on for a few more minutes. Grace was relieved when it was finally over. She needed to go home and think.
"Grace, you didn't do anything wrong. You had every right to ask for what you needed. What he did to you has a name. It's called emotional abuse," Connie said, handing her a couple of pamphlets featuring the number for the crisis hotline in bright bold.
Grace zeroed on the words: You didn't do anything wrong. Part of her wasn't so sure. As she walked out to the parking lot, Stephanie's words echoed in her brain: Are you sure you didn't do something to make him act this way?"
…...
Grace hated the Family Court Services mediator. The woman was just about as friendly as classy Ice Queen Candice Bergen in Sweet Home Alabama. The arrogant woman had not met Christian; yet, she presumed to know what was best for him.
Today was their third joint mediation session. The woman went over the list of holidays with the detachment and fierceness of Murphy Brown minus the sarcastic humor. In family court, mediators had authoritarian powers. Their duty went beyond assisting two parties in reaching an agreement. In cases of unresolved disputes, family court judges generally adopted the mediator's recommendation.
"Make it closer to 10 am. Grace is not an early riser," Carrick smirked as they discussed the visitation schedule. "She's often sleepy in the mornings."
" I'm sure Mr. Grey must be joking," Grace said, making eye contact with the mediator. "I can make it at 7 am if necessary."
" I'm concerned about Grace's ability to parent our son." Carrick's sharp gaze shifted between the mediator and his wife. When he spoke again, his tone was confidential. "Her mental health is an issue... she has a propensity for violence. She's hit me and scratched me. Not the best example for our son, not to mention she also has a history of severe post-partum depression including hallucinations."
"That was a temporary condition—Grace interjected. "It's no longer an issue," she added, mindful of Connie advising her not to engage in arguments. Mediators generally side against the combative party. "What matters here is what's best for Christian. I'm fine now. As to the violence he mentioned, that was an isolated incident. He had kidnapped our son for three days, refused to answer my calls. I was frantic with worry."
"Her episodes of post-partum depression bordered on psychosis. I was terrified about the safety of our family. I had to hide knives and sharp objects in the house," he shook his head in bewilderment. "That's why I never wanted to try for a second child."
Grace gasped. This horrible man was making her sound like a lunatic. All of a sudden, her fear of losing Christian became magnified ten times over. She shuddered, thinking what would happen if Carrick managed to convince Candice Bergen here that she was unstable.
She had no choice but to admit she'd undergone treatment for her depression. It was in her hospital records. She doubted it would make much of a difference that her commitment was voluntary. Her only hope was to try to turn the tables around.
"I am concerned about Mr. Grey's unstable behavior. I'm afraid he's going to kidnap my son again. He's a flight risk. What if next time, he liquidates his assets and takes him out of the country?" As a matter of fact, my lawyer filed a motion for custody of Christian's passport."
The mediator didn't comment; her head bent over, writing everything down.
"Christian belongs with me. I've always been Christian's primary caregiver. Mr. Grey was never around until now." She paused. Addressing him by his last name allowed her to remain level-headed and detached. "All of a sudden, now he has time for all these visitations?" She questioned bitterly.
"I love our son," Carrick interjected passionately. "I cannot imagine not seeing him every day. But since that won't be possible, I think a 50/50 split seems the fair thing to do."
The mediator nodded in agreement.
"I just love our son so much. Grace, please, let's reach an agreement for our son's sake."
The mediator readily sympathized with Carrick's well-timed pleading. Apparently, Candice had a soft spot for master manipulators.
"Mrs. Grey, the law encourages a 50/50 custody arrangement. In most cases, studies have found that this is in the best interests of the children. Frankly, I don't see any reason why this case should be any different than the norm."
"Well, it looks like we should meet for another session," the woman went in a business-like fashion. "Before we end the session today, I would like to encourage you both to settle rather than me having to make my recommendations to the judge. It's what's best for your child. Unfortunately, parents don't always believe me, and then end up coming back to court, again and again, fighting over the same issues."
…..
That night, Grace stayed awake in bed past midnight, dreading what the mediator would end up writing in her report. When at last she managed to doze off, a loud ringing jolted her awake.
Half-asleep, she reached for her phone, "Hello?"
"Grace. Thank goodness you're awake. We need to talk."
"We have nothing to talk about."
"Grace! Don't hang up! Please! I'm sorry, I'm sorry for what happened with Gladys. It meant nothing to me."
"What you did is unforgivable."
"Wait, listen! I want us to get back together. I contacted a marriage counselor and made an appointment for the two of us," Carrick said quickly, afraid of being cut off in mid-sentence. Pause. "I thought you'd be happy."
"You want to see me happy?" She scoffed. "Then, get the hell out of my life!" She said before slamming the phone down into its base.
…..
The report from the mediator came crashing on her door like a ferocious hurricane destroying everything in its path. Despite containing critical remarks about both parents, it called for Grace to retain 70% custody until Christian's 5th birthday. After that, both parents would have joint legal and physical custody.
Grace stared at the pages in a daze. Eventually, she opened her hand, and the report floated like a leaf caught in the breeze just before landing on the floor.
What kind of life was this? This kind of arrangement was a recipe for a very troubled and unhappy childhood, continually shuffled back and forth between two households.
That night, Grace had trouble falling asleep. She couldn't help but feel that her life had turned into a wild ride headed down into an abyss.
Christian?
She called. At first, she had trouble recognizing her son.
Her copper-haired boy was now fifteen.
How did it happen?
They grow up so fast.
Funny thing, she never fully believed it until now.
Christian rose to his feet; he was tall and handsome.
Her eyes roamed over the dark tattoos on his muscular arms. The haunted look in his eyes told the story of a life lived without love.
She called to him again, but it was no use; plexiglass and a sound barrier stood between them.
Oh, no. Christian, NO!
What was he doing? What did was he shooting up his arm?"
Heroin?
Oh, God, NO!
Christian squinted, glassy-eyed. Watching him polish off an entire bottle of whiskey in a single sitting reminded her of Robert Grey.
Her gaze shifted to the other people around him. They were also trying to get his attention, yet her son seemed intent on ignoring them all.
The hell with everything and everyone!
A desperate Grace banged her fist on the plexiglass. It was then that she noticed her hands were old and wrinkled and deformed by an aggressive form of arthritis. And when she ran her hand through her hair, she was horrified to discover her hair falling out in chunks.
Time had been cruel; there was nothing left but deep regret, she thought mournfully.
If only she had stayed married, none of this would have happened.
She awoke in a cold and darkroom, feeling doubly relieved. The nightmare was over. Her son was still little, thank God. And as far as she could tell, she still had a full head of hair.
…...
"I'm afraid the news is not good, Grace," Connie Thomson said. After many months of working together, they were now on a first-name basis.
Oh, no. What could be worse than that God-awful mediator report?
With a heavy sigh, the older woman produced two sets of psychological reports. Grace didn't have to read them to know she failed; it was all written on the other woman's face.
"I got to be honest with you here. We got two strikes against us. The judge will take a look at both the psych eval and mediator reports," she shook her head. The odds are not good. Like I said before, 95% of the time, judges go with the mediator's recommendations. They assume the mediator has had the time to meet with the families and knows best. Even in cases of documented physical abuse, it's very unlikely for a family court judge to rule any differently..."
Grace pulled a chunk of her hair in bewilderment. It was so freaking unfair. How could the fate of her child be in the hands of the likes of someone like Candice Bergen, who frankly didn't give a shit?
Connie served two glasses of brandy diluted with carbonated water and offered one to Grace.
"But...what does the psych report say about Carrick?" Grace bemoaned after taking a swig of her drink. It warmed her chest and took the edge off. "If anyone is psychologically unbalanced is him! The sick bastard is a psychopath! He has no conscience, zero generosity...no guilt feelings whatsoever."
"I'm with you here. The mediator should have taken the kidnapping attempt as a serious threat. Unfortunately, she seems to believe the solution is for the passport to remain in legal custody until your son turns eighteen. It's a shame she refused to look at the big picture. The custody dispute is a way for Carrick Grey to control the marital finances. He's manipulative. He maliciously hid his assets and forced us into a lengthy discovery process," she exhaled. "But that doesn't matter. According to the law, Financial matters are to be kept completely separate from custody disputes. However, on the bright side, financially, you're better off now."
"What are my chances of losing my son, realistically?"
"It depends on what you mean by losing him. You will no longer be the primary caregiver. Most likely, the judge will rule 50/50 split. Her gaze shifted to the psych report. "However, the psychiatric evaluation might bring the numbers closer to a 60/40 split in his favor."
Grace held her head in anguish. No, she couldn't let this happen.
The idea of being apart from her precious little boy for much of the time was simply unbearable. She would very much rather die a thousand agonizing deaths.
"I can't," She whispered.
Connie leaned her ear closer. "What?"
"I can't... I can't risk losing Christian. I can't do this. I'm putting a stop to this divorce."
The lawyer looked at Grace as if she'd grown three heads.
"I'm afraid I'm not following you. Once the judge looks over at the discovery papers and the mediator report and signs, it's final."
Grace shook her head no. There was still something she could do.
After leaving Connie's office, Grace went to see Carrick. She had to wait longer than usual in the reception area, but she didn't mind that or the gossip that was sure to follow.
"Grace, what a surprise," Carrick greeted her, leaning back on his office chair. "Please, have a seat."
"I asked my lawyer to file a motion to stop the divorce proceedings," she told him straight to the point.
Carrick cleared his throat. "What?"
Her reply was without emotion. "I changed my mind. I'm hoping we can put all this behind us and start over."
Carrick cocked his head, intrigued. Slowly, his lips curved into a smile.
"Not so fast there."
Now it was her turn to be shocked.
"If we're getting back together, it has to be under my terms," he paused cockily. "I propose a do-over. From this point forward, we're erasing history. It's the only way. You are NOT to discuss what happened in the last few months with anyone. Is that clear? No one!"
Grace shook her head no. "Stephanie knows."
"Stephanie and her husband are moving to Japan next month. Didn't you hear?"
"Why?"
"Why what?"
Grace exhaled loudly. "Why are we re-writing history?"
"The last couple of months have left a sour taste in my mouth. It's the only way we can truly start over."
….
Two months later
After putting Christian to bed, Grace joined Carrick in the living room. She smiled at him as he offered her a glass of wine.
Tonight was their wedding anniversary. To celebrate, Carrick had gifted her flowers and a gorgeous set of diamond earrings.
"Happy anniversary," Carrick said, lifting his wine glass for a toast.
They clinked glasses and sat on opposite ends of the couch, in front of the television.
Life was good.
She sipped her drink. Gone was her desire to rock the boat.
In time, she stopped arguing, stopped fighting, stopped caring.
"I found a movie I think we'll both enjoy." Carrick settled back on the cushions. "Ready?" he half-smiled, a mere formality, as he pushed the button on the TV remote control.
Grace blinked in recognition as the opening credits rolled in.
Life is beautiful.
The title was familiar, she mused, recalling sitting down to watch this movie some time ago. The thing was, she didn't remember anything about it.