Chapter 4 - The Deposition of Truth
Three weeks later, the formal deposition took place in a high-rise conference room overlooking the South Platte River.
The room was clinical and cold, dominated by a long glass table equipped with microphones and a high-definition video camera set up on a tripod to record the proceedings.
Emma sat at one end of the table, dressed in a sharp, elegant cream blazer. Her dark hair was pulled back into a neat bun. Though still thinner than usual, her complexion had regained its healthy color, and her eyes were sharp, focused, and unyielding. Beside her sat Sarah Jenkins.
Across the table sat Ryan.
He looked terrible. He had lost weight, but not in a healthy way; his face was gaunt, his eyes bloodshot, and his suit hung loosely off his shoulders. His hair, usually meticulously styled, looked unwashed. Sitting beside him was his high-priced private defense attorney, Richard Sterling, a man who looked thoroughly miserable to be representing Ryan.
"We are on the record," the court reporter announced, her fingers hovering over her stenography machine. "This is the deposition of Ryan Harrison Parker in the matter of Parker v. Parker."
Richard Sterling cleared his throat. "Before we begin, my client would like to state for the record that he deeply regrets the events of last month and wishes to pursue a private, amicable settlement for the sake of his infant son."
"There will be no private settlement, Mr. Sterling," Sarah Jenkins replied smoothly, opening her binder. "Your client rejected amicable co-parenting the moment he left my client to die on her nursery floor."
Ryan leaned forward, his hands trembling slightly on the table. "Emma, please," he said, his voice raspy. "Can we just talk without the lawyers? I made a mistake. A horrible, terrible mistake. I was overwhelmed by the pressure of being a new father! I panicked!"
Emma didn't flinch. She looked at him with the detached curiosity one might reserve for an insect.
"You didn't panic, Ryan," Emma said softly, her voice steady as steel. "Panicking implies you cared enough to react. You were bored. You were selfish. You wanted to drink whiskey with your friends."
"I didn't know you were bleeding!" Ryan yelled, his composure breaking immediately.
"Let's talk about what you did know, Mr. Parker," Sarah Jenkins interrupted, pulling a printed transcript from her file. "Mr. Parker, under oath, did my client inform you at approximately 8:15 AM on the morning of your departure that she was unable to stand up?"
Ryan swallowed hard, glancing at his lawyer. Sterling gave him a subtle, warning nod.
"She... she said she felt weak," Ryan mumbled. "Lots of women feel weak after giving birth."
"Did she ask you to take her to the hospital?" Sarah pressed, leaning forward.
"She... she mentioned it, yes," Ryan admitted, his voice barely audible.
"And what was your direct response to her request for emergency medical transportation?"
Ryan stared at the glass table. "I... I told her she was being dramatic."
"Did you also tell her, and I quote, 'Don't call me unless the house is literally on fire'?"
"I was joking!" Ryan blurted out, his face flushing crimson. "It was just a figure of speech!"
"A figure of speech," Sarah repeated flatly. "And while your wife lay unconscious on the floor from severe blood loss, and your ten-day-old son went sixteen hours without nourishment, how many times did you check your phone for messages from home?"
Ryan stayed silent.
"Answer the question, Mr. Parker," the court reporter reminded him.
"I... I didn't check it," Ryan whispered. "I put it on 'Do Not Disturb' so I could enjoy my birthday."
Sarah pulled out another document—a certified record from Ryan’s cellular provider. "According to these records, between 9:00 AM on Friday and 5:00 PM on Sunday, you received fourteen emergency alerts from the smart-home security system, notifying you that an infant was crying continuously in the nursery for over four hours."
A sharp gasp echoed through the room. Even Ryan’s own lawyer, Richard Sterling, turned to look at Ryan in disbelief.
"You ignored fourteen distinct automated emergency notifications from your baby's crib monitor," Sarah said, her voice rising with quiet, controlled fury. "Instead, you logged onto Instagram three times to upload videos of yourself partying."
Ryan looked like he wanted to dissolve into the floor. Tears of shame and panic finally began to spill down his cheeks. "I thought the app was glitching! I didn't think..."
"You didn't care," Emma interrupted, standing up from her chair and leaning across the table. Her eyes locked onto Ryan’s, pinning him to his seat.
"You spent three years making me feel small, Ryan," Emma said, her voice resonant and completely free of fear. "You made me feel like my feelings, my comfort, and my life were secondary to your ego. But when I was lying on that floor, watching my vision turn black, listening to my baby cry, I made a promise to Ethan. I promised him that if I survived that room, he would never, ever have to depend on a coward like you."
"Emma, please..." Ryan sobbed, reaching out his hand. "He's my son too!"
May you like
"No," Emma said, turning her back on him. "He’s my son. You were just the donor who went to Aspen."
She looked at Sarah. "We're done here."
