by Whitney G.
“We need to talk,” she said.
I said nothing. Just closed all the folders and looked at her.
“I just got served by the SEC…” She paced the floor. “Served, like legit papers…They came to the firm and—”
“I thought you were at the coffee shop.”
“I was.” She swallowed. “I stopped by the firm after getting your coffee so I could pick up a few things.”
“Was anyone there with you?”
“Of course not.” She scoffed. “Look at what time it is. Anyway…”
I couldn’t hear anything else she was saying. I could see her lips moving, make out some of the sounds that were coming out of her mouth, but the lies she’d just told me were blocking out everything.
“Why are you cheating on me?” I blurted out, suddenly annoyed by the tears falling down her face.
She sucked in a breath and looked me up and down. “Liam, the SEC has just unreasonably served me papers. Are you seriously accusing me of infidelity right now?”
“I’m not accusing you. An accusation would imply that there’s a chance you could be innocent. Why. Are. You. Cheating. On. Me?
She toyed with the gemstones on her necklace. Then she started to hum the refrain of a classic Sinatra song, “New York, New York.”
“Don’t make me ask you again, Ava,” I said. “I know you’ve fucked Kevin.”
Her eyes finally met mine. “Fine…Yes, I fucked him. Now, what?” Tears formed in her eyes. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I never thought I would cross the line with him of all people…”
“You told me Emma was a surprise…” I said. “That you didn’t want to have kids until we were in our mid-thirties.”
Her face paled. “You were at the office tonight weren’t you?”
“I was…”
Silence.
“So,” I said, mentally putting together the puzzle pieces. “Either you’re lying to him about me not being able to give you a baby—because last time I checked, right before Emma was miraculously conceived, you were still making me wear condoms and we weren’t even trying to have a fucking baby. Or, you’re lying to me, and you just wanted to fuck my best friend for an ulterior motive you’re saving for later. Which is it?”
“I still love you, Liam, It’s just—”
“Which is it?”
She said nothing, she just stood there with more tears falling down her eyes.
I held up one of the folders I’d been reading through. “I was looking through these tonight…At first, I thought they were standard mail-outs that you’d signed for me while I was gone or too busy, standard office supply orders, things like that…”
“Where’d you find those?”
“But it turns out,” I said, ignoring her question, “That these are all fucking favors from judges and clerks that I don’t recall asking for. Ever.”
“Liam...”
“Is there anyone in this city that you haven’t fucked to get something in return?”
She looked as if she actually had to think about it.
“I send you flowers every day—every. fucking. day.” I stepped forward. “I tell you that I love you and that you complete me, every day and this is what I get in return?”
“I understand how you feel, Liam, but—”
“No, you don’t fucking understand.” I clenched my fists. “I’ve never even entertained the thought of being friends with another woman. I make sure everyone knows I’m completely unavailable, that no one else stands a damn chance.”
“I cheated for your benefit, Liam. I did it for you.”
What the fuck?
I’d heard a lot of bullshit in my life, but that line officially took the cake.
“How do you think you won the Luttrell case?” She wiped away her tears and narrowed her eyes at me. “You think you did it with your award winning rhetoric and charm?”
“Do you have a mental disorder that you failed to tell me about?”
“I fucked the judge three days before the verdict. You were going to lose. And if you lost that case, there’s no way some of our current clients would’ve picked our firm to handle their account.”
“Our firm?”
“You think you built it alone?” She laughed. “Liam Henderson, warm-hearted, loyal, and too nice for his own fucking good? Please. I had to intercept every contract you sent out and redraft half of the terms. If I’d left it up to you, your firm would be nothing more than a pipe dream. You should be thanking me because you have no idea how much work I’ve done to put you where you are.”
“You’ve never argued a single case.”
“No, but I’ve fucked a lot of powerful people to make sure you never lost one.”
“I’ve never lost because I’m a damn good lawyer.”
“And I’m a damn good lay.” She shrugged. “Of course, my own husband has been so busy this year that he probably wouldn’t even know.”
“You’re blaming me for throwing your pussy around?”
“I’m shocked you even know what the word pussy means.” She hissed. “We lay in bed together every night and you never want to fuck me.”
“You always say that you’re tired. Or is that a lie, too?”
“I was only tired of fucking you.” She brushed past me and shut the door to Emma’s room. “What do you want to do now, huh? Divorce me?”
“Is that a serious question?”
“It is.” She smirked and a knock came to the door.
We both stood rooted to the floor, and the knock came again.
“I’ll get it.” I warned. “You stay there.”
I walked away and opened it, expecting to see Kevin so I could punch the shit out of him, but it was a different woman in a suit.
A young blonde.
“You’ve um…” Her cheeks reddened. “You’ve been…”
“Served!” Someone whispered loudly from around the corner. “Tell him he’s been served…”
“You’re an intern at The New York Times, aren’t you?” I rolled my eyes.
She nodded, but then she added. “My boss says you can go fuck yourself, and that even though we’ll never run your picture, we’ll make sure everyone knows that your firm is about to be run into the ground starting tomorrow.” She handed me the copy print for an article in tomorrow’s paper. “He says it’s your turn to feel some karma.”
I slammed the door in her face.
“I think you need to seriously weigh your options before you act out on your emotions.” Ava was right behind me, holding a sleeping Emma.
“Is this a threat?”
“It’s a promise…”
I raised my eyebrow. “And what exactly are the proposed terms?”
“If you help me sort this thing out—if you get the SEC off the firm’s back, both of us can avoid serving any time.”
“I’m not serving any fucking time. I didn’t do anything wrong. And if you think I won’t be the first person in line to help the state put your ass away, you’re sadly fucking mistaken.”
“Awww.” She pouted. “Look at you. Trying to sound all masculine and tough for a change, sounding like the man I wish you could’ve been.”
“Fuck you, Ava.”
“Not a chance.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Let me try phrasing this another way: I know that you’re Mr. Lawyer of the Year and you’d never willingly lie because you have a conscience and all that. But if you don’t help me, or if you refuse to tell investigators that you were partly responsible for what happened—that we all played a small part, I’m filing for sole custody of Emma.”
“File away. No judge in his right mind would give you sole custody.”
She laughed. “This is actually why people fuck to get what they want, honey. It comes in handy for times like this. Besides, you’re not even her real father.” She kissed Emma’s forehead. “Did you overhear that part while you were watching us fuck or were you too busy taking notes?”
I didn’t get a ch
ance to answer.
“Do not fuck with me, Liam.” She hissed. “You have no idea how far I’m willing to go to stay out of prison.”
“Even though you deserve to be there?” I snatched Emma away from her, making her stir. “You sought out clients using my name and you misappropriated the money. For what?”
“Status. Something you’ll never understand.”
“Something you’ll never need.” I countered. “Everyone behind bars shares the same level of popularity.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to give you a few days to come to your senses.”
“Or else what?”
“You don’t want to know the answer to that.” She walked out, slamming the door behind her—waking Emma.
She looked at me with her bright blue eyes, smiling. “Can I go play?”
I nodded, unable to even speak. Carrying her to the balcony, I didn’t even bother grabbing an umbrella for myself. I set her down and helped her into a coat, trying not to think about what Ava could possibly have up her sleeve.
Emma tilted her head up to the sky and swallowed raindrops, and then she dashed away from me—running in circles.
A loud thunder roared in the distance, and as if she could tell what I was about to say, she looked at me with a wide grin. “Five more minutes!”
The New York Times didn’t waste any time printing the story. Well, stories.
Henderson & Hart, Revered Law Firm, Embroiled in Scandal.
Hart Agrees to Cooperate Against Henderson, Following Brutal Bar Brawl.
Henderson Arrested, Questioned, After Wife Claims Recent Domestic Abuse.
The only story they didn’t mention, out of a hanging thread of respect, was my losing custody of Emma. Of me having to hand her over to Kevin.
I was innocent of every charge I faced, but due to the fact that I’d bashed Kevin’s head in, and Ava had claimed I was just as violent with her, it left the judge no choice but to put her in custody with her supposed “loving and biological father per the mother’s request.”
I thought it would only be for a week or two, a month at most, but as the charges piled up and the cases were trudged through the courts at a snail’s pace, the months wore on and on.
To make matters worse, Kevin and Ava purposely took Emma to places they knew I frequented: My favorite place at Central Park, my spot on the Brooklyn Bridge, my favorite restaurants.
In between my court appearances, I followed them to the park—resisting the urge to yell at them for letting her get too close to the streets, holding back the urge to take her back and flee the state.
Instead, I filed injunction after injunction—fighting multiple cases at once. I searched through every loophole of custody, documenting cases after case of non-biological fathers retaining rights.
Eventually the truth about Ava and Kevin’s scheme began to surface, and on the same day that Ava confessed to lying about me beating her—when she admitted that she’d made that all up, I won custody of Emma.
It was three days before her fourth birthday, so I arranged for a few of her neighborhood friends to come by with their parents. The theme was the rainforest, of course, and the party favors were umbrellas and rain-boots.
Kevin, still foolishly proclaiming his innocence in regards to the fraud, had grown quite attached to her over the past few months. He asked if he could still see her on the weekends once he returned her to me, but I didn’t even bother answering that question.
He’d seen her long enough.
Standing outside my brownstone, I called him two hours before her birthday party, making sure he was still dropping her off on time. Instead of talking to me like an adult, he made Emma repeat his every word to me.
“We’ll be there soon,” she said, a smile in her soft voice. “Can you please let us enjoy our last few hours alone? She’s my daughter, too.”
“See you soon, Emma.”
“Goodbye, Daddy!” She hung up and I rearranged the party decorations for the umpteenth time, greeting the early guests and directing them into the living room.
Half an hour passed.
A whole hour.
Two.
I called Kevin, annoyed that he was pulling this bullshit of a stunt—as if it was even half as difficult as it had been for me, but there was no answer.
Upset, I dialed the police and they showed up to my door within minutes.
“Are you Liam Henderson?” They asked.
“Yes, I’m the one that called.”
I pulled the court order out of my pocket and explained what was happening, how Kevin was technically committing kidnapping, but they interrupted me.
They weren’t at my house to take a report.
They were there to give one.
As they calmly explained what had happened, how she was less than a block away when the car collided with a truck, my world stopped.
I asked which hospital she was being flown to, which route was the fastest to take, but the cops simply sighed and looked past me, as if they didn’t want to say anything further.
They didn’t have to.
Their looks said it all.
Emma’s funeral was held on a grey and wet day, another harsh blow to my chest. I sat through speeches from the few people she’d crossed paths with, from her young friends who had yet to fully comprehend what her death really meant.
My next door neighbor, a four year old named Hannah, said, “I hope you come back next week, Emma. You can come to my birthday party.”
I stared at the tiny casket as they lowered it into the ground, half of me wanting to jump in with it and risk being buried alive. At least then I wouldn’t have to feel anything anymore.
As the crowd dissipated one by one—tapping my shoulder and saying, “I’m so sorry for your loss,” as they left, I spotted Ava walking into the cemetery.
Flanked by two prison guards, she fell to her knees and bawled once she reached the uncovered grave.
“You made me late for my child’s funeral.” She cursed at the guards. “I fucking missed it…How cruel can you possibly be?”
“All furloughs have the same time constraints, ma’am,” one of them said flatly. “We couldn’t have left any earlier.”
She shook her head and continued to cry, beating her hands against the ground. As if she needed to distance herself from the guilt, she stood up and walked towards the podium, reading the papers that were left behind.
She broke down again and I walked over.
“Liam…” She held out her arms. “She’s really gone, isn’t she?”
“She is.” I refused to console her. “And it’s all your fault, Ava. Your fucking fault.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” She sniffled. “Don’t you think I feel that?”
“It should be you down there in the ground right now. It should be you.”
“Liam…”
“She didn’t deserve to be taken away from me and you know it.”
“I do know that…I was just—”
“Trying to prove a point? To do whatever it took to hurt me because you fucked yourself over and you wanted to bring me down with you?”
“We can get through this…We can still find a way to restore your name in this city, and you’re the best lawyer I know so…I know you can turn everything around and maybe help me too. Maybe forgive me?”
“I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you rot in prison, to make sure you never get out and that the parole board never gives you an ounce of sympathy.”
“You don’t mean that, Liam…”
“If I ever find a way to get away with murder, you and Kevin will be my first victims.”
The guard across from us gave me a look.
“Don’t be like this, Liam…”
“My name won’t be Liam for too much longer just so you know. It’ll be Andrew.”
“Are you leaving? Are you about to leave me here?”
“That should be you in the ground right now…�
�� I noticed the funeral director stacking the chairs, mindlessly breaking down what was just another ceremony to him. “That should be you…”
One of the guards began speaking with the funeral staff, inquiring as to whether they should leave the premises or not. Noticing her time here was limited, Ava grabbed onto me. “Liam, I mean…Andrew. You clearly still love me because you’re trusting me with that…We can rebuild everything we had, we can start over, you and me…We can do this if you help me…”
I grabbed her hands and moved them away as one of the guards stepped closer.
“You know I don’t belong in prison,” she said, crying. “They’re transferring me to a permanent location next week…Save me, Andrew…Save me…”
I said nothing.
“If I could take everything back, I swear…I swear I would. Don’t you think I love Emma, too?”
“Loved,” I said. “It’s past tense now, don’t you think?”
She sighed. “Please don’t leave me…”
“I won’t.” I stepped back so the guards could escort her back to the van. “I’ll write…”
“Really?” Her eyes looked hopeful as she walked away. “Okay, I look forward to your letters…I look forward to fixing us…”
The rain picked up its pace, transitioning from a drizzle to a downpour, but I remained standing—unable to walk away from Emma. I re-read her tiny tombstone, crying as her face crossed my mind.
Emma Rose Henderson,
A Daddy’s girl, through and through.
Gone too soon,
But never forgotten…
I stared at those words for hours, letting the rain drench me to the bone. It wasn’t until the director informed me that the gates were closing, that I walked away.
Lost and heartbroken, I spent the next few months in a dizzying haze. Despite the fact that Ava was the one behind bars, the paper continued spouting her lies as facts, slandering me, and I didn’t even bother disputing it.
I didn’t have the energy.
I submitted written testimonies through lawyers I’d hired—knowing that eventually things would sort themselves out. I didn’t even care that Ava had hired her own high profile team to block me from getting a divorce.
I no longer gave a fuck about anything.
