Chapter 5
Richard didn’t come home for three days.
He called once, late at night, to say he was staying at his brother’s place. He didn’t ask about Lila. He didn’t ask about Leo.
I didn’t call him back.
In those three days, Lila and I settled into a rhythm. She was quiet, always trying to help—washing dishes, folding laundry, making coffee in the morning. She’d sit for hours in Ethan’s room, looking through his sketchbooks, tracing the drawings he’d made of her and Leo.
Leo was the easiest baby I’d ever been around. He rarely cried, just stared at everything with those big brown eyes, smiling that dimply smile every time someone talked to him. Every time I looked at him, I felt Ethan there, like he was watching over us.
On the fourth day, Richard came home.
He walked in the front door without a word, carrying a thick manila folder. He dropped it on the kitchen table, looking at me, not Lila.
“I’m contesting the life insurance,” he said.
I froze.
Ethan had a small policy—fifty thousand dollars, taken out when he started college. He’d never changed the beneficiary. Or so we’d thought.
“The lawyer found a handwritten note,” Richard said, his voice cold. “Tucked in the back of his old art portfolio. Dated two weeks before he died. Says he wants all his money to go to ‘any child of mine.’”
He looked at Lila, his eyes hard.
“I’m saying the note is fake. That she wrote it. That she’s just after the money.”
Lila’s face crumpled. “I didn’t even know about the insurance! I swear—”
“Save it,” Richard snapped. “The court date is next week. We’ll let a judge decide.”
He walked out of the room again.
I turned to Lila, my heart breaking. “We’ll fight this. We have the DNA test. We have Ethan’s phone, all the texts. He can’t win.”
But I was scared. Richard had money. He had the best lawyer in town. Lila had nothing but a stack of texts and a baby.
The week leading up to court was a blur. We met with our lawyer, a kind woman who’d lost her own son a few years before. She went through all our evidence—Ethan’s phone, the DNA test, the texts, Lila’s lease from the apartment she’d shared with Ethan, the ultrasound photos dated months before he died.
“Richard’s case is weak,” she said, patting my hand. “He has no proof Lila forged anything. The note’s handwriting matches Ethan’s school records we pulled. You’re going to win.”
I wanted to believe her.
The day of court, the sky was gray again, just like the day I’d found Lila at the grave. We sat on one side of the courtroom, Lila holding Leo, me beside her. Richard sat on the other side, his lawyer next to him. He wouldn’t look at us.
The judge called the case.
Richard’s lawyer stood up, painting Lila as a gold digger, a stranger who’d shown up out of nowhere to take advantage of a grieving family. He said the note was too convenient, that the DNA test could have been tampered with.
Our lawyer stood up next. She laid out all our evidence, one by one. She played the voice mail Ethan had left Lila the night before he died, his voice happy and excited, talking about Leo, about finally telling his mom.
Then she called Lila to the stand.
Lila told the whole story. How she’d met Ethan at an art gallery, how they’d fallen in love, how scared they’d been of Richard. How Ethan had died on his way to tell me. How she’d lived in her car for a month, too scared to come forward.
She cried when she talked about the cemetery. About how she’d gone there every day, just to feel close to Ethan. About how she’d finally worked up the courage to talk to me that day.
When she was done, the whole courtroom was quiet. Even the judge had tears in her eyes.
Richard’s lawyer didn’t even cross-examine her.
The judge ruled in our favor. The money went into a trust for Leo, to be used for his education and care.
As we walked out of the courtroom, Lila sobbing into my shoulder, I saw Richard standing by the door. He was staring at Leo, his face twisted with something I couldn’t name.
May you like
He didn’t say anything. He just turned and walked away.
But for the first time, I thought I saw regret in his eyes.
