“We didn’t have lawyers; we did our own divorce settlement. I knew we were supposed to divide up the property, but these . . . these were children.”
“Under what circumstances were these pre-born children created?” Wade asks.
“When Zoe and I were married, we wanted to have kids. We wound up having in vitro fertilization five times.”
“Which of you two is infertile?”
“We both are,” I say.
“How was the in vitro done?”
As Wade walks me through our medical history, I feel a sad emptiness in my stomach. Could a marriage of nine years really come down to this: two miscarriages, one stillbirth? It is hard to imagine that all that’s left behind are some legal documents, and this trail of blood.
“How did you react to the stillbirth?” Wade says.
It sounds awful to say so, but when a baby dies, I think the mother has it easier. She can grieve on the outside; her loss is something everyone can actually see in the slope of her belly. For me, though, the loss was on the inside. It ate away at me. So that, for a long time, all I wanted to do was fill myself.
God knows I tried to, with alcohol.
My eyes are tearing up; this embarrasses me. I duck my head. “I may not have shown it the way Zoe did,” I say, “but it wrecked me. Completely. I knew I couldn’t go through that again even though she wanted to.” Looking up, I find Zoe staring right at me. “So I said I wanted a divorce.”
“What was your life like after that, Max?”
Just like that, my throat seems to turn into cotton, so that I feel like if I don’t have a drink I’ll die. I force myself to think of Liddy, the other night, sitting on the edge of my bed, praying over me. “I went through a bad time. I missed a lot of work opportunities. And I started drinking again. My brother took me into his home, but I kept digging myself deeper and deeper into a hole. And then one day, I crashed my truck into a tree and wound up in the hospital.”
“Did things change after that?”
“Yes,” I say, “I found Jesus.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Angela Moretti says. “We’re in court, not a revival meeting.”
“I’ll allow it,” Judge O’Neill replies.
“So you became religious,” Wade prompts.
I nod. “I started going to the Eternal Glory Church, and talking to the pastor—Clive Lincoln. He saved my life. I mean, I was a complete mess. I’d screwed up my home life; I was an alcoholic, and I didn’t know anything about religion. I thought at first that, if I went to church, everyone would be judging me. But I was completely blown away. These people didn’t care who I was—they saw who Icouldbe. I started going to adult Bible study, and to potluck dinners, and to the fellowship hour after Sunday’s services. They all prayed for me—Reid and Liddy and Pastor Clive and everyone else in the congregation. They loved me unconditionally. And one day I sat down on the edge of my bed and asked Jesus to be the Savior of my soul and the Lord of my life. When He did, the seed of the Holy Spirit was planted in my heart.”
When I finish, I feel like there’s light coming out from inside me. I look over at Zoe, who is staring at me as if she’s never seen me before.
“Your Honor,” Angela Moretti says. “Apparently Mr. Preston didn’t get the memo about the separation of church and state . . .”
“My client has the right to testify about what changed his life,” Wade answers. “Religion is what led Mr. Baxter to file this lawsuit.”
“In this particular case, I have to agree,” Judge O’Neill says. “Mr. Baxter’s spiritual transformation is intrinsic to the matter at hand.”
“I can’t believe this,” Angela Moretti mutters. “Literallyandfiguratively.” She sits back down, arms folded.
“Just to clarify,” Wade asks me, “do you still drink alcohol?”
I think about the Bible I’ve sworn on. I think about Liddy, who so badly wants this baby. “Not a drop,” I lie.
“How long have you been divorced?”
“It’s been final for about three months, now.”
“After your divorce, when was the next time you thought about your pre-born children?”
“Objection! If he’s going to keep calling these embryos children, Your Honor, I’m going to keep objecting—”
