Four Minute Phone Call Exposed My Husband and My Best Friend
“To a judge who doesn’t know you, these notes look like a chronicle of gradual mental decline,” James said.
He tapped his pen against his pad again, the sound like a small, hollow drum in the quiet booth.
“He has documented every time you forgot to turn off a light, every time you misplaced your keys, and every conversation where you seemed distracted.”
“He told me he was keeping these notes to help the doctors,” I said, the memory of his gentle voice making my stomach turn.
“He was keeping them to help his lawyer,” James said.
“Look at this entry from January tenth,” I said, pointing to a typed line.
Subject was unable to complete the weekly grocery shopping, requiring assistance to leave the store.
“I remember that day,” I whispered. “I had a panic attack because I saw a woman with a newborn in the aisle. Richard came to get me. He was so gentle. He bought me a cup of tea and told me to take all the time I needed.”
“But here,” James said, pointing to the next sentence, “he wrote that you had a public hysterical episode that required his intervention to prevent a disturbance.”
