Chapter 8 - DONNA STOPPED RUNNING
Donna started therapy.
That mattered more to me than the title litigation.
For thirty-two years she had built her life around avoidance.
Montana wasn't simply home.
It was distance.
One evening, we made bread together in my kitchen.
The same kind she had carried in the basket Hattie destroyed.
Donna became quiet.
“I left her.”
“Ruth?”
“Yes.”
“You were twenty-seven.”
“I was still an adult.”
I did not tell her she was blameless.
She didn't need a slogan.
“What did you think would happen?”
“That Warren would scare me.”
“And?”
“I was afraid he'd kill me.”
She said it flatly.
No drama.
That was the first time I understood why she never returned.
I asked:
“If Ruth is alive, do you want to find her?”
Donna looked at the dough.
“I don't know.”
Then:
“Yes.”
That was enough.
We hired an investigator through counsel.
Not to stalk someone.
To search records.
Alias possibilities.
Hospital filings.
Old addresses.
Professional licenses.
Property records.
The work was slow.
Meanwhile, my divorce proceeded.
The condo remained my separate property subject to legitimate reimbursement issues that had to be addressed.
I did not “take everything.”
I wanted the truth accounted for.
Michael moved into a rental.
Hattie returned to Sedona.
The assault matters moved separately through police, attorneys, and court procedures.
Donna hated it.
She hated photographs of her injuries.
Repeating statements.
Being asked whether she had fought back.
One afternoon she said:
“I wish I'd never brought the envelope.”
“You got hurt because of it.”
“You got hit because of me.”
“No.”
I put down my coffee.
“I got hit because I married a man who believed hitting me was acceptable.”
Donna looked at me.
“That isn't your guilt.”
I realized I was saying it for both of us.
The land transaction remained frozen.
Vale Meridian began considering withdrawal.
Hattie's debt worsened.
Then our investigator found something.
A Grace Mercer.
Age thirty-three.
Born in New Mexico.
Mother's maiden name on one old school enrollment record:
Greer.
The mother's first name:
Ruth.
No proof they were our Ruth and Grace.
But enough for a cautious contact through an attorney.
Three weeks passed.
No response.
Then an email arrived.
One sentence.
May you like
Donna Reyes kept her promise.
No signature.
