Chapter 11 - CASSANDRA PICKED A SIDE
Cassandra went into labor three weeks early.
Of course she did.
Family crises rarely respect litigation schedules.
Megan called me at 2:14 in the morning.
“Her water broke.”
“Call Thomas.”
“She says no.”
“Call Beatrice.”
“She says absolutely no.”
“Call 911 if she needs it.”
“We’re already driving to Maine Med.”
I sat up.
Oliver slept beside me because a thunderstorm had sent him into my bed at midnight.
“What do you want me to do?”
Megan sighed.
“Come.”
I stared at the ceiling.
Cassandra had eaten two lobsters.
Helped build a competing salon.
Known about the blue notebook.
Wanted my business.
She had also handed me the documents that exposed the plan.
Human beings were inconvenient.
“I’ll come.”
Thomas was at the hospital when I arrived.
So was Beatrice.
Cassandra had apparently called him from the car despite telling Megan not to.
She wanted her brother.
Of course she did.
Beatrice saw me in the waiting room and stood.
“You.”
Thomas touched her arm.
“Mom.”
“No.”
She pointed at me.
“She has no business here.”
Megan stepped between us.
“Cassandra asked for her.”
Beatrice stared.
“She what?”
A nurse opened the door.
“Family of Cassandra Carter?”
We all turned.
“Two support people only right now.”
Cassandra’s voice called from behind the curtain.
“Megan and Mara.”
Beatrice’s face changed.
Thomas looked at me.
I walked past both of them.
Cassandra delivered a healthy little girl six hours later.
Seven pounds even.
She named her June.
I cried when I saw her.
That annoyed me.
Cassandra noticed.
“You’re crying.”
“You look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
“Happy birthday.”
She laughed weakly.
Then went quiet.
“I want you to tell Erin something.”
“Rest.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I’ll testify.”
I looked at her.
“About what?”
“The dinner.”
“The business.”
“Mom’s notebook.”
“Thomas.”
Her eyes filled.
“All of it.”
“You need your own lawyer before you promise anything.”
She blinked.
“That’s such an annoying answer.”
“I’ve been paying professionals.”
She almost smiled.
Then she said:
“I knew Mom wanted to make you angry Friday.”
I nodded.
“But I didn’t know about court.”
“Okay.”
“I knew Thomas wanted you to sign the salon papers.”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were going to get money.”
“Twenty-five thousand.”
Her face tightened.
“I didn’t know.”
“I believe that.”
She looked surprised.
“Really?”
“I believe you didn’t ask questions because the answers might ruin something you wanted.”
She nodded.
“That’s worse than being stupid.”
“Yes.”
She accepted it.
That mattered.
Cassandra’s decision split the Carter family cleanly.
Beatrice stopped speaking to her.
Thomas called her disloyal.
Cassandra cried for three days.
Then hired an attorney.
Her lawyer arranged a statement relevant to the divorce and business dispute.
No promises about consequences.
No immunity because this was not a television bargain.
She produced texts.
One from Beatrice:
Once Mara signs, Cass & Coast is ours. Don’t let pregnancy guilt make you soft.
Cassandra replied:
It’s partly Mara’s too, right?
Beatrice:
Until paperwork says otherwise.
Another:
Cassandra:
What about Oliver if they split?
Beatrice:
Thomas gets him. Mara can’t run a salon and be a real mother.
I read that line at Erin’s office.
My hands shook.
Erin said, “You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Liar.”
“Functional.”
“Better.”
The temporary parenting conference happened the next week.
Thomas sat across from me wearing the gray suit I bought him for our tenth anniversary dinner.
We never reached ten.
His attorney argued for primary residence based on stability and work schedule.
Erin produced school records.
Medical records.
My adjusted salon hours.
Evidence that I had hired a manager to cover evenings.
Then the emails showing Thomas and Beatrice deliberately encouraged longer work hours before filing.
The judge did not smile.
Did not lecture.
Did not call Thomas a monster.
He asked questions.
“Mr. Carter, did you tell your wife the mortgage was behind?”
Thomas shifted.
“We had financial concerns.”
“Was the mortgage behind?”
“No.”
“Did you tell her Cassandra had an unpaid medical bill?”
“My mother handled that.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Thomas looked down.
“I may have.”
“Was the bill unpaid?”
“No.”
The judge looked at the emails.
Then at Thomas.
Temporary order:
Shared parental rights.
Oliver’s primary residence with me during the school week.
Thomas received alternating weekends and one midweek dinner.
No disparagement.
No discussing litigation with Oliver.
No unsupervised contact between Beatrice and Oliver pending further review because of her attempt to influence him about evidence.
Not forever.
Not punishment.
Temporary caution.
Thomas looked stunned.
I didn’t feel triumphant.
Oliver still cried the first Wednesday because he wanted Daddy to put him to bed.
That was the cost nobody celebrated.
After the hearing, Thomas caught up with me in the courthouse hallway.
“Mara.”
Erin stayed beside me.
“What?”
“You happy?”
“No.”
“You got what you wanted.”
“I wanted you not to use our son.”
His face tightened.
“I love him.”
“I know.”
“That email doesn’t change that.”
“No.”
He looked surprised.
I continued.
“It changes what I trust you to do when you’re scared.”
He stared.
“That’s the problem.”
He looked away.
Then whispered, “Mom pushed this too far.”
I felt anger rise.
“No.”
He looked back.
“No what?”
“You do not get to become Cassandra now.”
“What does that mean?”
“You don’t get to discover Beatrice was wrong only after her plan hurts you.”
His face went red.
“I made mistakes.”
“You filed the divorce.”
“Yes.”
“You applied against my house.”
“Yes.”
“You lied about money.”
“Yes.”
“You helped build the notebook.”
His voice dropped.
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“Then say your name when you explain what happened.”
He said nothing.
I walked away.
Behind me, Thomas called:
“I never wanted to take Oliver from you.”
I stopped.
Turned.
“Then why did you ask the court to make him live with you?”
Thomas’s mouth opened.
May you like
No answer came.
That question followed him into the next stage of the case.
