Chapter 25 - DUSTIN’S LAST QUESTION
When Meadow was twenty-one, Dustin asked me to meet for coffee.
She was away at college.
No custody issue.
No legal reason.
“What is this about?”
“The old file.”
“What file?”
“Incident Four draft.”
He had received the final personal papers back after record-retention rules expired.
The custody draft.
The Chicago school application.
His handwritten notes.
Police interaction preferable.
He placed them in an envelope.
“I want to destroy my copies.”
“Then destroy them.”
“I wanted to ask whether you think Meadow will ever need them.”
“She has access to the official record.”
“I know.”
He looked older.
“We spent years treating evidence like control. I don’t want to destroy something just because I’m ashamed.”
That was a better question than I expected.
We asked Meadow.
She wanted one digital legal copy preserved with her attorney.
Not Dustin’s notes at home.
We used a secure shredding service.
No fireplace.
No ceremony.
Paper into locked bin.
Before leaving, Dustin said:
“Do you still think I wanted to take her from you?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“I did.”
Not soften.
Not:
I only wanted shared custody.
“I wanted her to choose me enough that moving felt justified.”
I waited.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Then:
“Do you think you could ever have forgiven me if I had told you before the haircut that I wanted divorce and Chicago?”
“That isn’t the useful question.”
“What is?”
“Whether you could have respected no.”
He looked at me.
“That was always the problem.”
May you like
“Yes.”
We left separately.
