I lost my fifth baby the week my husband set a wedding date with my sister — and my nine-year-old walked into that wedding carrying his worst secret.

I dropped Sophie at home and got the younger three parked with my neighbor Dana, told her I'd be back before dinner, and kept my voice level the whole time.

Sophie didn't ask anything else. She sat at the kitchen table eating dry cereal out of the box like the day had spent every bit of energy she had. I kissed the top of her head on my way out.

Renee was waiting in the lot behind Reeder's Coffee, two blocks from Larkspur Hall.

She had Bethany with her.

I almost got back in my car. I sat down at the little metal table anyway.

Bethany held a paper cup in both hands and didn't look right at me. Up close she looked younger than she had in the hall, and tired in a way that went a lot deeper than one bad afternoon.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know that's worth nothing to you."

"It's worth nothing to me," I agreed. "But I'm sitting here. So talk."

She pulled a folder out of her bag and laid it on the table.

"He told me he was separated," she said. "That the marriage had been dead for years. That you two were just waiting on a judge's signature."

I opened the folder.

Bank statements. An account I had never seen in my life. Opened eighteen months ago. Joint — Derek and a name I didn't recognize.

Withdrawals. Regular ones. Big ones. All routed to a second account.

"That's his mother's maiden name," Bethany said, tapping the name on the page. "Ferris. He opened it under her maiden name. I didn't figure that out until my brother helped me trace where the money was coming from."

Renee leaned in. "How much, total?"

"Forty-three thousand dollars. Over fourteen months."

The number just sat there on the table with the three of us.

"He said it was a savings account," Bethany went on. "Money for when we could finally be together the right way. For the baby." She stopped. "His name is Noah. He's seven months old. Derek has held him twice."

I closed the folder. "Why are you telling me any of this?"

"Because Nicole's family is going to come after me now. And because Derek called me this morning — before the ceremony — and told me that if I ever contacted him again he'd tell everyone I was crazy. That I made the whole thing up. That the baby isn't even his." Her jaw went tight. "He said he had people who'd back him on it."

"He threatened you."

"He's been threatening me for three months. Today was just the first time I had anywhere to take it."

Renee slid her phone across the table. A voice memo, already cued up.

I pressed play.

Derek's voice came out of that little speaker, low and even and unmistakable. "You need to hear me on this, Bethany. If you show up anywhere near that wedding, I will make sure every person you know thinks you're a liar. I've got friends where you work. I know your landlord personally. Do not test me."

It ended.

Nobody said anything for a second.

"He didn't know you were recording," I said.

"He never thinks anybody keeps anything." She looked up. "I've got six more like that one."

I sat back.

For thirteen years I'd told myself Derek was sloppy with the truth but not cruel about it. That he lied the way weak men lie — to dodge a fight, not to run a plan. Sitting at that little metal table listening to his voice, I finally understood I'd been wrong about that, same as I'd been wrong about everything else.

"What do you want out of this?" I asked her.

"I want him to put his name on Noah's birth certificate. I want child support ordered by a court, not whatever he decides to hand me when he's in a good mood." She paused. "And I want him to stop threatening me."

"You need a lawyer."

"I can't pay for one. Not a good one."

Renee looked at me. I looked at the folder.

"I know somebody," I said slowly. "She handled my divorce. She's sharp."

Bethany blinked. "Why would you do that for me?"

I thought about Sophie at that microphone with the letter shaking in her hand. About the baby I lost while Derek was opening a secret account and leaning on the mother of his other child.

"I'm not doing it for you," I said. "I'm doing it so he runs out of people he can get away with this on."

I put the folder in my bag.

Renee's phone buzzed on the table. She read it and her whole face changed.

"What," I said.