Four Minute Phone Call Exposed My Husband and My Best Friend
“He kept a log,” I said, the words dry in my throat.
“Every day,” James said. “Every doctor visit, every prescription, every hour you spent resting after the surgeries.”
I turned the page, my eyes skimming the dates.
October third: Subject exhibited high anxiety when discussing the nursery furniture, demonstrating an inability to process grief in a rational manner.
December twelfth: Subject was observed crying while looking at old family albums, suggesting a prolonged depressive state that may impair financial judgment.
“Why would he write this down?” I asked, though my gold wedding band felt suddenly tight around my knuckle as I twisted it.
“Because of your father’s trust,” James said, leaning forward. “The prenuptial agreement has a specific clause regarding mental capacity.”
“The capacity clause,” I whispered.
“If a court declares you incompetent to manage your own affairs,” James said, “the prenuptial agreement becomes void, and the secondary trustee takes control.”
“The secondary trustee is Richard,” I said.
“Exactly,” James said. “He wanted a paper trail of your grief to show a judge on November fifteenth.”
“I was just sad,” I said, looking at the typed lines. “I was just grieving our babies.”
