It was a lie so bald I almost respected the lack of effort.
At that party, I had drunk exactly one glass of champagne, then left early because Nathan had spent forty minutes with his hand on the back of a female developer and I did not yet have a language for the humiliation of being sidelined in your own marriage.
“I see,” I said.
“I’m just saying courtrooms can turn impressions into facts.”
There it was. Clean. Polite. Threatening.
When the call ended, Sandra sat back.
“He just handed me leverage.”
I blinked. “How?”
“Because his brother is a potential witness, and he just tried to shape your testimony through intimidation. Men like Henry think if they don’t shout, it doesn’t count.”
I let out a shaky breath.
For about five minutes, I felt almost held together.
Then the hearing date came in.
Monday morning.
Four days away.
The weekend felt endless. Nathan didn’t call me directly. Everything moved through lawyers now, which somehow made it uglier. It gave his cruelty formatting.
I barely slept Sunday night.