Chapter 6 - NOTHING LEFT TO FIGHT OVER
I called Nina from the bakery parking lot.
She listened without interrupting while I repeated Jessica's warning.
When I finished, her voice changed.
"Go directly home."
"Why?"
"Because I'm filing for emergency financial relief today."
Claire was already starting the car.
"Can he really empty everything?"
"He can try."
"And if he does?"
"Then he creates a trail."
That sentence had become Nina's answer to nearly every frightening thing Derek did.
A trail.
Derek kept behaving as though money vanished when it left an account.
Nina behaved as though every dollar carried a fluorescent tag.
By the time Claire and I reached my house, the joint savings balance had dropped again.
Another nine thousand dollars was gone.
I took screenshots before even removing my shoes.
Then I checked the checking account.
A transfer of four thousand dollars was pending.
The memo line said TAX RESERVE.
We had no tax payment due.
I sent everything to Nina.
Twenty minutes later, she called back.
"His attorney says Derek claims he's protecting funds from you."
I stared at the phone.
"From me?"
"Yes."
"I'm the one who hasn't moved anything."
"I know."
"He took more than twenty thousand dollars."
"I know."
"So what happens now?"
"I requested a temporary restraining order concerning extraordinary transfers of marital assets."
My stomach tightened at the phrase restraining order.
"Does that mean he's dangerous?"
"No."
"This is about money, not physical contact."
I exhaled.
Nina continued.
"I also requested an expedited accounting and temporary responsibility for household expenses."
"Will we get it?"
"We'll see."
"I hate that answer."
"It's the only honest one."
At three that afternoon, Derek sent me an email instead of a text.
The subject line was FINAL OFFER.
He wrote that he would return ten thousand dollars to the joint account if I signed his divorce packet and agreed not to make any public accusations about him or Jessica.
He also wanted me to agree that all paternity questions would remain private.
I read the email twice.
Then I forwarded it to Nina without replying.
Her answer came five minutes later.
DO NOT RESPOND.
A second email from Derek arrived.
I KNOW YOU'RE READING THIS.
Then a third.
YOU'RE GOING TO SPEND MORE ON LAWYERS THAN THE MONEY IS WORTH.
Claire stood behind me and read over my shoulder.
"He sounds scared."
"He sounds like Derek."
"Maybe those are the same thing now."
That evening, I ate soup while Claire searched online for baby cribs.
She refused to let every conversation become about the divorce.
"This one converts into a toddler bed."
"The baby is the size of a lime."
"Limes grow fast."
"That's not how babies work."
"You know what I mean."
I laughed despite myself.
For ten minutes, we talked about bassinets and changing tables.
Then the doorbell rang.
A process server stood outside.
My stomach dropped until he handed me papers from Derek's attorney.
Derek had filed for divorce and requested exclusive possession of the house.
He claimed the marital residence had become "hostile and inaccessible" because I changed the locks.
He also claimed I had interfered with his medical privacy and was using confidential information to harass his new partner.
Claire read the pages beside me.
"He is unbelievable."
I kept reading.
Near the bottom, Derek alleged that my pregnancy had created "serious questions of marital misconduct."
My hands started trembling again.
Even with the ultrasound dates.
Even with the lab report.
Even after seeing the evidence himself.
He had put the accusation into a court filing.
I called Nina.
She was still at her office.
"I just got served."
"Email me the papers."
"He said I violated his medical privacy."
"Did you open the portal document?"
"No."
"Did you open the envelope in the closet?"
"No."
"Good."
"Jessica sent me the lab report."
"Also good that we know the source."
I heard typing on her end.
"Sarah, breathe."
I hated that she could tell I was panicking.
"He put the cheating accusation in court."
"An allegation is not a finding."
"People read allegations."
"Judges read evidence."
I sat down.
"What do we do?"
"We answer it."
The next morning, Nina filed a response attaching my ultrasound dating report and Derek's signed post-procedure acknowledgment.
She did not attach Jessica's messages yet.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because we don't show every card just because someone raises their voice."
"But it proves he was lying."
"It may prove several things, and I want to preserve its value."
She also sent Derek's attorney a formal proposal for a noninvasive prenatal paternity test through an accredited laboratory.
The cost would be split temporarily, subject to later allocation.
Derek had forty-eight hours to respond.
He answered in two.
NO.
Not maybe.
Not later.
No.
Nina forwarded his attorney's email to me.
The stated reason was that prenatal testing was "unnecessary, potentially unreliable, and emotionally coercive."
I read the phrase emotionally coercive three times.
Then I started laughing.
Claire looked up from the couch.
"What's funny?"
"The man who demanded a DNA test in a coffee shop says DNA testing is emotionally coercive."
Claire snorted.
"Put that on a T-shirt."
Nina did not find it funny.
"His refusal is useful, but don't treat it like proof."
"Of course."
"We can ask the court to address paternity testing in an appropriate order, but there may be procedural limits before birth."
"So we wait?"
"Not necessarily."
"What else can we do?"
"We can ask him again after producing the ultrasound evidence and the post-vasectomy instructions."
"Why would that change his mind?"
"Because his lawyer may start giving him better advice."
She was right.
The next afternoon, Derek's attorney sent a new message.
Derek would agree to the prenatal test if the laboratory was jointly selected and if Jessica's presence was not permitted.
I blinked at the last condition.
"Why does he care whether Jessica is there?"
Nina sounded amused.
"That is not our problem."
The testing appointment was scheduled for the following Tuesday.
My blood sample would be drawn first.
Derek would provide a cheek swab separately.
Results were expected within several business days.
I wrote the date on my calendar and stared at it.
For weeks, Derek had made paternity sound like a courtroom execution waiting for me.
Now the test felt like a door.
Once it opened, one of us would no longer be able to hide behind uncertainty.
On Monday night, Derek called from a blocked number.
I answered before realizing it was him.
"Sarah."
I almost hung up.
"Why are you calling from a blocked number?"
"Because you keep sending everything to your lawyer."
"Then text me through your normal number."
"I need to ask you something."
I said nothing.
His voice dropped.
"If the test says I'm the father, what do you want?"
The question stunned me.
"What do I want?"
"Money?"
I almost could not speak.
"You think this is about money?"
"Everybody wants something."
I stared at the dark ceiling above my bed.
"I wanted my husband to believe me."
He was silent.
"You had that chance in the kitchen."
Still nothing.
"Then I wanted you to stop humiliating me."
His breathing changed.
"You had that chance before the steakhouse post."
"Sarah—"
"Now I want the truth documented."
His voice hardened.
"And if it says I'm not the father?"
"Then I will accept it."
"Just like that?"
"Yes."
"You won't challenge it?"
"Not if the test is legitimate and properly handled."
He was quiet for so long that I thought the call had dropped.
Then he whispered, "You sound very sure."
"I am."
I ended the call.
The next morning, I arrived at the laboratory at eight ten.
Derek was already in the parking lot.
He sat in his truck with both hands gripping the steering wheel.
When he saw me, he did not get out.
I walked past him and entered the building.
Five minutes later, he followed.
Neither of us spoke while the receptionist checked our identification.
Neither of us spoke while the technician explained chain-of-custody procedures.
Then Derek looked at the collection kit.
His face went pale.
"How long until the results?"
"Usually five to seven business days," the technician said.
Derek swallowed.
May you like
For the first time, the man who had demanded proof looked terrified that proof was actually coming.
