Chapter 11: The Pressure
Daniel’s attempts shifted after the discovery materials were exchanged.
The angry voicemails stopped. In their place came longer, carefully written emails. He spoke of regret. Of realizing he had been blind. Of Ava being “a child who needs guidance, not victory.” He offered counseling—family counseling, individual counseling for Ava, couples counseling for us. He used the phrase “I want to repair this” seven times across three emails.
I forwarded each one to Rebecca without replying.
Ava tried a different route. She sent a handwritten letter to the suite address she had somehow obtained. The handwriting was neat, the tone contrite. She claimed she had been scared of losing her father. She claimed she never meant for things to go this far. She asked for a chance to talk, just the two of us.
I placed the letter in a new folder labeled “Correspondence – Unanswered” and put it with the rest of the files.
One evening Mark—Daniel’s brother—called from a number I still recognized. His voice was awkward, caught between loyalty and discomfort.
“He’s a mess, Claire. I’ve never seen him like this. Ava’s not doing well either. Maybe if you just sat down with them once—”
“I sat down with them for three years,” I said. “It didn’t help.”
Mark was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I was there at the barbecue. I saw it.”
May you like
That was the closest anyone in Daniel’s family had come to acknowledging the truth. I thanked him for the call and ended it.
That night I stood at the window of the suite and watched the city lights. Somewhere out there Daniel was rewriting the story into one of temporary blindness and redeemable mistakes. Ava was practicing a new version of remorse. And I was no longer willing to audition for either of their narratives.
