Chapter 7: What Scott Hadn’t Said
I waited until Audrey was at Claire’s house before I asked him.
It was evening.
The kitchen was clean.
I made tea I didn’t want and set a cup in front of him, and then I sat down and I said it plainly.
“The text said there are things about you I don’t know.
Things from before.” I kept my eyes on him.
“Is that true?”
Scott wrapped both hands around the mug.
He didn’t drink from it.
“Yes,” he said.
The word landed quietly.
But it landed hard.
“Tell me.”
He took a long breath.
“When we were in our twenties,” he said slowly, “Derek and I were different.
We ran with a bad crowd for a while.
There were things that — it wasn’t anything violent.
But it wasn’t clean, either.” He looked up at me.
“I got out.
I met you.
I changed.
But Derek has photos from back then.
Things I wouldn’t want Audrey to see.
Things I wouldn’t want used against us in court if he decided to get ugly.”
“What kind of things?” I asked.
“Parties,” he said.
“A lot of drinking.
Some dr*gs.
Nothing that would put me in prison now, but enough to make me look—” He stopped.
“Enough to make you look unreliable,” I said.
“Enough to make your testimony less credible.”
“Yes.”
The room was very quiet.
“Scott,” I said.
“Did you stay quiet when he said Audrey was mature because you were afraid of what he knew about you?”
The pause before he answered was one second too long.
“No,” he said.
“I genuinely thought I was misreading it.
But—” He stopped again.
“But maybe I also didn’t push, because somewhere in the back of my mind I knew Derek could make things difficult.”
I sat with that for a moment.
“That’s honest,” I said.
“I wish you’d told me sooner.
But that’s honest.”
He looked at me.
His eyes were red.
“Linda, I’m sorry.
I know that doesn’t—”
“I need to know everything he might use,” I said.
“I need to know before Detective Hargrove does, so that nothing he says catches us off guard.” I looked at him steadily.
“Can you tell me everything?
Right now?
Tonight?”
“Yes,” he said.
“All of it.”
“Then talk,” I said.
He talked for almost two hours.
I listened.
I asked questions.
I didn’t minimize what he told me, and I didn’t react in the ways he was bracing for.
When he finished, I sat quietly for a moment.
“None of that changes what Derek did,” I said finally.
“None of it makes Audrey’s account less true.
And none of it means we stop.”
“I know,” Scott said.
“But I need you to call Detective Hargrove tomorrow morning before Derek can use any of it.
You tell her everything you told me.
Everything.
So that when he tries to introduce it, she’s already heard it from you.”
He nodded.
“And Scott?” I said.
“Yeah.”
“The next time something feels wrong — you tell me.
Even if it’s uncomfortable.
Even if it costs something.” I looked at him directly.
“You tell me.”
He held my gaze.
“I will,” he said.
“I promise.”
I believed him.
I wanted to believe him.
But belief, after something like this, is something you rebuild slowly, in small moments, over a long time.
That night I lay in the dark and thought about Derek in his house with Cheryl, building his version of the story brick by careful brick.
And I thought: he thinks I’m going to stop.
He doesn’t know me.
The next morning, Scott called Detective Hargrove.
He told her everything.
She listened without interrupting.
When he finished, she said, “Thank you for telling me now, Mr.
Callahan.
What you’ve just shared makes it harder for him, not easier.”
Scott handed me the phone when she asked to speak with me.
“Mrs.
Callahan,” she said.
“We found something in the phone records we subpoenaed.
I’d like to come by this afternoon.”
I looked at Scott.
“We’ll be here,” I said.
