PART 10 – My Mother-in-Law Had an Answer for Every Question Until I Asked Why She Was So Certain I Should Give Up

The next time my mother-in-law called, I nearly let the phone ring out.

Her number appeared on the screen while I was washing a cup.

I dried my hands and answered.

She didn't bother with a greeting.

"Have you spoken to your lawyer?"

"Yes."

"And what does he intend to do now?"

"Continue with the case."

She sighed.

"This is getting out of hand."

I looked at the empty space on the counter where I usually kept my keys.

"What do you think should happen?"

"You should accept that the situation has become unpleasant for everyone."

I waited for her to mention the money.

She didn't.

I waited for her to mention Joyce.

She didn't mention her either.

Instead, she talked about the family.

She said people were asking questions.

She said my husband was under stress.

She said the divorce should have been finished by now.

I listened until she stopped.

"Did you know the blonde woman before the hearing?"

The silence was immediate.

Then my mother-in-law said she had already told me she didn't want to discuss the matter over the phone.

"You didn't answer the question."

"I don't have to answer every question you ask."

"No," I said. "But I am allowed to ask."

She made a disapproving sound.

I could picture her standing in her kitchen, holding the phone away from her ear as if I had become unreasonable simply by refusing to agree.

"Angela, you have always made things more difficult than they need to be."

I felt the old urge to defend myself.

I wanted to remind her of every family dinner I had helped prepare.

Every birthday I had remembered.

Every time I had swallowed an insult because I didn't want to cause trouble.

But those things would not answer the question.

So I said nothing.

She ended the call.

I stood beside the sink for a while.

The cup was clean.

The water was still running.

I turned it off.

I had spent years believing that if I explained myself clearly enough, my husband's mother would eventually understand me.

I had mistaken her willingness to speak for a willingness to listen.

There was no point trying to change her mind over the telephone.

If she knew something relevant, the proper place to address it was through the legal process.

I told my lawyer about the call.

He asked me to write down what had been said, including the question she had refused to answer.

I did.

I also wrote down what I knew about the hearing.

The blonde woman had been sitting beside my mother-in-law.

My husband had looked back at her.

When Joyce identified her, my mother-in-law had touched his wrist and tried to stop him from pointing.

Those were things I had seen.

They were not proof of a plan.

I kept the distinction clear.

A few days later, I received a message from my husband asking to meet privately.

I showed it to my lawyer.

He advised me not to discuss the disputed transactions with my husband outside the legal process.

I agreed.

I replied that any matters concerning the divorce should go through our lawyers.

His response came quickly.

He said I was treating him like an enemy.

I read the message twice.

Then I put my phone down.

I didn't answer.

I had learned how easily a conversation with him could turn into a discussion about my attitude instead of his actions.

If I was calm, he called me cold.

If I was upset, he called me irrational.

If I asked for details, he accused me of trying to start an argument.

There was no perfect way to speak that would make him accept a question he didn't want to answer.

I wasn't going to spend another night trying to find one.

At work, I continued my routine.

I checked medication labels.

I helped a colleague move a patient safely.

I called a family member with an update when I was permitted to do so.

My work required me to pay attention to what was in front of me.

It reminded me that a person could be frightened without being confused.

A person could be exhausted and still know what had happened.

I had wanted my husband to understand that for years.

Now I was learning to understand it for myself.

One evening, I took the old account statements out again.

I reviewed the transfers from my paychecks.

They were ordinary amounts, deposited at regular intervals.

Nothing about them looked dramatic.

That was the point.

The savings had been built through small decisions repeated over nine years.

A shift accepted.

A purchase postponed.

A paycheck divided.

I had never expected anyone to praise me for it.

I had only expected the money to remain where we had agreed to keep it.

I returned the statements to the folder.

Then I wrote a short note for my lawyer listing the questions I still wanted answered.

Who had used my identification?

How had the woman obtained it?

Who had taken the ring?

Could the bank establish what happened during each transaction?

I left the question of who arranged everything open.

I didn't want a suspicion to become a conclusion simply because it frightened me.

When I finished, I closed the folder.

My mother-in-law could call me stubborn.

My husband could call me difficult.

Neither word changed the dates on the bank slips.

Neither word changed Joyce's testimony.

And neither word put the money back in the account.

I was beginning to see that I didn't need their agreement to keep asking for the truth.

Click here to continue reading: PART 11: The Woman Joyce Recognized Had Remained Silent, and I Had to Learn Not to Fill That Silence With My Fears