For once, we were speaking the same language.
The rumor campaign started the following Tuesday.
Not with a newspaper story. Not with a blog.
With social media.
A former client messaged me: People are saying you trapped Ethan. Please tell me it isn’t true.
Trapped.
I sat on the sofa holding my son and felt my stomach turn over so hard I thought I might be sick.
Maya took my phone, searched, and found Victoria’s post in under three minutes.
She hadn’t named me.
She didn’t have to.
The post was written in that polished, vague style people use when they want the legal protection of ambiguity and the emotional effect of a public execution.
Funny how some people disappear, then return at the most strategic moment with a newborn and a story. Some women look fragile, but know exactly what they’re doing.
The comments were worse.
Prayers for Victoria. Shock at Ethan. Questions about timing. Thinly disguised accusations. A few people guessing my name.
Maya started taking screenshots immediately.
“Don’t respond,” she said.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good. Because she wants you messy.”
I called Catherine.
She told me exactly what I expected her to tell me.
Document. Don’t engage. Notify Ethan in writing.