Chapter 7 - MY OWN BAD FACTS
Rebecca forced me to list everything my family could use against me.
I resented her for it.
Then understood.
“Late pickups?”
“Three.”
“From school?”
“One. Two from Mom’s house.”
“How late?”
“Thirty minutes. Twenty. An hour and fifteen.”
“Why the hour?”
“Hospital incident. A supply-chain failure.”
“Did you call?”
“Yes.”
“Proof?”
“Texts.”
“Good.”
“Times you lost your temper with Sophie.”
I stared.
“Rebecca.”
“If they file, we need accuracy.”
I thought.
“I yelled last year when she drew on the wall.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I couldn’t handle one more thing.”
“Anything worse?”
“After Adam died, I screamed at her once for touching his tools.”
“How old?”
“Four.”
“What happened?”
“I apologized.”
“Therapy?”
“Yes.”
“Alcohol?”
“Wine. Rare.”
“Drugs?”
“No.”
“Police?”
“No.”
“Relationship?”
“No.”
“Ever leave Sophie alone?”
“Ten minutes while I went next door.”
“Age?”
“Seven.”
“Legal?”
“Probably not ideal.”
Rebecca nodded.
No saint-building.
Good.
“Work travel?”
“About twelve nights last year.”
“Who watched her?”
“Sometimes Mom. Sometimes sitter. Once Natalie.”
“Why not use trust money for professional care?”
“Because I didn’t need to.”
Rebecca leaned back.
“That sentence will matter.”
“How?”
“Your family is claiming Sophie required extensive support.”
“She didn’t.”
“Yet they billed for it.”
“Yes.”
“So your refusal to spend Sophie’s trust became an obstacle.”
I understood.
If I hired normal babysitters from my salary, Mom and Natalie could not bill thousands.
If Sophie was independent enough to spend afternoons in clubs or with friends, less “family care.”
May you like
They needed my ordinary working-parent life to become neglect.
And their ordinary babysitting to become professional caregiving.
