The name of a divorce attorney.
And a sealed envelope from a fertility specialist in Boston.
“My wife spent years being blamed for something that was never her fault,” he said. “It taught me not to automatically believe the loudest person in a marriage.”
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Inside the envelope was an appointment that had already been paid for.
Then Garrison slid a photocopied medical report toward me.
Julian’s name was at the top.
The conclusion made my hands shake.
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His chances of naturally fathering a child were extremely low.
I stared at Garrison.
“I’ve never seen this.”
“I know.”
He explained that Julian had arranged for the original report to disappear with help from someone inside the clinic.
Garrison had kept a copy because that employee had once been connected to an investigation.
“You investigated him?”
His expression became unreadable.
“I used to investigate a lot of people.”
That was when I understood something Julian had failed to consider.
He had not simply abandoned me.
He had left behind evidence.
And Garrison knew exactly where to look.
