After His Heart Transplant My Husband Forgot His Daughter Chapter 17
The lawyer spread the documents across our dining table.
On top was Renata’s not-guilty plea. She admitted to forging the foreclosure notice and taking the money from the 529 account, but she insisted the pier incident was a tragic accident.
Her attorney had also filed a motion claiming Grady was making false accusations out of revenge for a failed marriage, and that the things he’d recorded her saying were merely “jokes taken out of context.”
“Is she saying Mom manipulated Grady into accusing her?” I asked.
Mom flipped to another page.
“More or less. She’s also claiming I’ve spent years poisoning you against Grady, so any testimony from us is unreliable.”
I lowered my eyes to my right hand.
The edge of the brace pressed into my skin, leaving two faint red lines.
Four years ago, in that hospital corridor, Renata had used that same wounded tone to say Grady hadn’t meant for it to happen.
Now she was saying the same thing in a court filing.
The lawyer pointed to the list of cloud recordings.
“These won’t prove she forged the documents, but they will establish a pattern of behavior. They prove Sabine didn’t invent the family conflict after the fact. Elodie was documenting Grady’s repeated abandonment long before the pier incident, and she also recorded how Renata was constantly summoning him away.”
“Will they be played in open court?”
“Not if you don’t agree. The prosecution can request they be sealed and only show the relevant portions to the judge and jury.”
Mom answered immediately. “No.”
The lawyer looked at her.
Mom answered immediately. “No.”
The lawyer looked at her.
“I’m not letting a room full of strangers listen to my daughter crying,” Mom said, pushing the documents back toward him. “The pier surveillance, the bank records, the forged notice, and Renata’s confession on Grady’s recording are enough.”
She started to close the laptop.
I put my hand on the screen.
“Mom, I want to listen first.”
She stopped.
“Elodie, you don’t owe anyone your testimony.”
“I know.”
“And you don’t have to hurt yourself all over again just to make sure Renata goes to prison.”
I looked at the row of dates.
“But she said you taught me to hate him.”
Mom fell silent.
I clicked on the twelfth recording.
My eight-year-old voice whispered a birthday wish, hoping the dad from before the surgery would come back. In the background, you could hear a restaurant birthday song and, faintly, Mom asking if I wanted another piece of cake.
She had never taught me to say a single bad word.
She hadn’t even known I was recording.
In the next file, three short chimes sounded from beyond my bedroom door, followed by Grady’s hurried footsteps and the slam of the front door.
She had never taught me to say a single bad word.
She hadn’t even known I was recording.
In the next file, three short chimes sounded from beyond my bedroom door, followed by Grady’s hurried footsteps and the slam of the front door.
Renata’s custom ringtone.
I took off the headphones.
“Submit them.”
Mom crouched in front of me.
“Are you sure?”
“Only the parts relevant to the case. Ask for them to be sealed.”
I moved the mouse to the share button and pressed it with my good fingers.
“She used Elias’s heart as an excuse, and Grady used it as an excuse. These recordings will show the court that long before the pier, they had already made the same choice, over and over again.”
The files began to upload.
When the progress bar finished, I didn’t cry.
This time, my eight-year-old self wasn’t talking to someone who would never come back.
She was finally putting her voice in the hands of people who would hear her.