After My Husband Impregnated His Mistress’s Daughter, I Fought Back

I found Dani Coleman's dorm on the NYU campus Friday afternoon. Third floor. East wing. The building smelled like instant noodles and laundry detergent.

I knocked.

She opened the door halfway. Looked at me. Her face hardened. "No."

"I'm Laurel Brooks. Anders's mother."

"I know who you are." She started to close the door.

I put my hand on it. Not pushing. Just holding. "Five minutes."

"I don't want to talk to you."

"I'm not asking you to talk. I'm asking you to listen."

She stared at me. Her jaw was tight. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She'd been crying. Recently.

Finally, she stepped back. Let the door swing open.

The room was small. Twin bed. Desk covered in textbooks. A laptop open to a half-written essay. She didn't offer me a seat. I took one anyway. The desk chair.

She stayed standing. Arms crossed. "Five minutes."

I pulled out my phone. Opened the photo gallery. Found the timeline I'd built. "The photographs you saw. The ones of Anders and Ariella. When were they taken?"

"I don't know. A few weeks ago."

"October twenty-third," I said. "That's the metadata stamp. The alleged assault happened October fifteenth. Eight days earlier."

She didn't answer.

"Ariella filed her complaint on November twelfth. That's four weeks after the alleged assault. Four weeks after she claims she was traumatized. But she was photographed with Anders eight days after the incident. Smiling. Sitting close. Does that timeline make sense to you?"

Dani's arms tightened across her chest. "Maybe she was trying to process it."

"Maybe." I swiped to the next photo. A screenshot of Ariella's Instagram. "She posted this on October thirtieth. Two weeks after the alleged assault. It's a selfie. The caption says 'best night ever.' She's wearing Anders's jacket."

Dani looked away.

"I'm not asking you to believe me," I said. "I'm asking you to think. You're a journalism student. You follow evidence. So follow it."

She turned back. Her voice was sharp. "Why are you here?"

"Because Anders told me he has a girlfriend. Someone he was afraid to tell his father about. Someone he cared about enough to keep secret. That's you."

Her face cracked. Just for a second. Then she pulled it back together. "Had. Past tense."

"He also told me he installed a security camera in his apartment. After a break-in last spring. He shared the feed with you. In case of emergencies."

She went still.

"Do you still have access to it?" I asked.

She didn't answer.

I stood. Picked up my bag. "I'm not going to beg you. I'm not going to tell you Anders is innocent and hope you believe me because I'm his mother. I'm going to tell you that there is footage. And if you have it, and you don't look at it, and my son goes to prison because you were too hurt to press play—" I stopped. Took a breath. "Then you'll have to live with that."

I walked to the door. Opened it.

"Mrs. Brooks."

I turned.

Dani was looking at the floor. Her arms were still crossed. But her hands were shaking. "I saw the pictures. I saw him with her. He looked—"

"He looked like a boy who didn't know he was being set up," I said.

She looked up. Met my eyes. "Why would she do that?"

"I don't know yet. But I'm going to find out."

I left.

---

She called me at eleven that night.

I was in the hotel room. Papers spread across the bed. I didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?"

"I watched it." Dani's voice. Quiet. Shaking.

I sat up. "The footage?"

"Yes."

I waited.

"He didn't touch her," she said. "She—she came on to him. He pulled away. He tried to leave. She blocked the door. She took off her own clothes. He pushed past her and walked out."

I closed my eyes. "Can you send it to me?"

"Yes."

"Tonight?"

"Yes."

There was a long silence.

"Mrs. Brooks?"

"I'm here."

"I almost didn't watch it." Her voice broke. "I was so angry at him. I wanted him to—" She stopped. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just send me the footage."

"Okay."

She hung up.

My phone buzzed two minutes later. A file transfer. I opened it.

The video was grainy. Black and white. Time stamp in the corner: October 15, 11:47 PM.

Anders stood near the door. Ariella was close to him. Too close. She put her hand on his chest. He stepped back. She moved forward. He turned toward the door. She stepped in front of him. Said something I couldn't hear. He shook his head. She reached for his belt. He grabbed her wrist. Pushed it away. She pulled her shirt over her head. Dropped it on the floor. He turned. Walked around her. Opened the door. Left.

She stood there for a moment. Then she picked up her shirt. Put it back on. Looked directly at the camera.

And smiled.

I watched it three times.

Then I called Nadia.

"I have it," I said when she picked up.

"Have what?"

"Everything."

I heard her sit up. "Send it to me."

"Already done."

She was quiet for a second. Then: "Laurel. This is it. This is the case."

"I know."

"We need to file a motion to dismiss. First thing Monday morning."

"No."

"What?"

"We're not dismissing. We're going to trial."

"Why?"

I looked at the frozen image on my screen. Ariella's face. That smile.

"Because I want him to watch," I said. "I want Cassius to sit in that courtroom and watch me destroy this. In front of everyone."

Nadia didn't answer right away. Then: "Okay. Let's do it."

I hung up. Sat in the dark hotel room. The footage still playing on my phone.

I thought about Anders. In a cell. Eighteen years old. Scared.

I thought about Cassius. At the house. With Rosalie. With Ariella.

I thought about the camera hidden in our bedroom. The lens angled toward the bed.

And I felt something I hadn't felt in years.

I felt dangerous.