Chapter 8 - The Woman From Nathan's Past
Vanessa Cole sent me an email.
She introduced herself as Nathan's former girlfriend.
They had dated during college.
I almost deleted it.
Then I read the second paragraph.
I'M NOT CONTACTING YOU BECAUSE I WANT NATHAN BACK. I HAVEN'T SPOKEN TO HIM IN MORE THAN TEN YEARS. JOAN FOUND ME.
That got my attention.
Vanessa said Joan had reached out through social media.
She asked whether Nathan had been "emotionally unstable" when they dated.
She wanted statements.
Screenshots.
Anything she could use.
Vanessa refused.
Then she became curious.
She searched my name, found enough public information to understand that Nathan and I were separating, and decided I should know Joan was contacting people from his past.
I forwarded the email to Rebecca.
Then, against my better instincts, I called Vanessa.
Her voice was warm.
Tired.
Embarrassed.
"I'm sorry this is happening."
"What did Joan want?"
"She wanted me to say Nathan was easy to manipulate."
I almost laughed.
"That's not exactly favorable to her son."
"I don't think she realizes that."
"What else?"
Vanessa hesitated.
"She asked if he ever had anger issues."
"Did he?"
"No."
That surprised me.
"Why contact you?"
"I think she's trying to prove he isn't capable of making decisions without influence."
"Meaning she wants to claim I'm controlling him."
"That's how it sounded."
Joan's logic was becoming clear.
If Nathan rejected her, someone else must be controlling him.
It could never be his own choice.
Vanessa told me something else.
When she and Nathan dated, Joan had interfered constantly.
She called Vanessa selfish.
Told Nathan he was changing.
Manufactured emergencies during their dates.
Eventually Vanessa left.
"I thought he would never be free of her," she said.
Those words stayed with me.
Free.
I had viewed Nathan as weak.
And he had been.
But weakness wasn't always permanent.
The question was whether he was willing to do the uncomfortable work required to become different.
Our divorce was finalized when the twins were nine months old.
There was no dramatic courtroom battle.
No screaming.
No last-minute confession.
Just paperwork.
Custody arrangements.
Support calculations.
Property division.
The legal acknowledgment that the marriage I'd expected to last forever had ended before our children learned to crawl.
Outside the courthouse, Nathan stood beside me.
He looked at the concrete steps.
"I'm sorry."
"I know."
"I don't expect forgiveness."
"I know."
He gave a small smile.
"You hate when I say that."
"I really do."
We both laughed.
It felt strange.
Almost tender.
But not romantic.
At least not then.
Nathan had progressed to regular unsupervised parenting time.
He'd become reliable.
When Ruby developed an ear infection at two in the morning during his weekend, he didn't call me in panic.
He called the pediatric nurse line.
Followed instructions.
Then updated me.
That mattered.
Not because he was doing anything extraordinary.
Because parenting shouldn't require applause for basic responsibility.
But Nathan had never been taught responsibility without Joan standing over him.
Now he was learning.
Joan, meanwhile, became increasingly isolated.
Mark limited contact.
Evan moved farther away for work.
Her sister stopped answering certain calls.
The duplex was sold after the financial dispute.
The stolen-money issue was resolved through attorneys and repayment agreements.
I heard she blamed me for all of it.
I stopped caring.
Then came the twins' first birthday.
Nathan and I agreed on one party.
At Clara's house.
Small.
Family only.
No Joan.
Nathan accepted that boundary.
The morning of the party, balloons filled the backyard.
Ruby wore yellow.
Miles wore blue.
Clara baked two tiny smash cakes.
Nathan arrived early to set up chairs.
For a few hours, we looked like something I never expected.
Not a married couple.
A parenting team.
Then the doorbell rang.
Clara opened it.
Joan stood there.
But she wasn't alone.
Beside her was an older man carrying a leather briefcase.
And Joan smiled at me through the doorway.
"I'm here to meet my grandchildren," she said.
The man opened his briefcase.
"And I'm here," he said, "because Mrs. Vance has filed a petition."
The birthday music continued playing behind us.
May you like
Nathan went completely still.
And the twins' first birthday became the day Joan tried to drag all of us back into court.
