“It was a one-time thing,” Sandra explained, still just as compassionately. “It was only recently that I found out that it was your husband who is the father. The boy is three and a half now.”

Gunilla Hallin looked crushed, but Sandra needed to get out what she had come to say, and with empathy and tenderness at that.

“Jan is the father of the child whether he likes it or not,” she said. “He doesn’t want anything to do with the boy, and that suits me just fine. So in order to avoid involving social services, I suggested a private arrangement—which isn’t unreasonable anyway. On the contrary, I think my demands are more reasonable for him than if we got the authorities involved.”

“But . . .” the woman said, unable to grasp it. “Why involve Jan? It must have been your decision to keep the child?”

She didn’t level it as an accusation, she said it more as a reasoned thought. She was tempted to put up an opposition and explain what had actually happened, but Sandra preferred not to start a war around this. She wanted to end one.

“I’m not here for the money,” she said truthfully. “I’ve been threatened several times. To begin with, it didn’t really scare me, but my car was sabotaged today—and it’s not fun anymore. Both my son and I could have been hurt. Naturally, I could have gone to the police and told them what your husband was up to, but I don’t want to rile him up anymore. And since I can’t communicate with him, I’ve come to you instead. I thought you, as a woman, might have some understanding for my situation as a single parent. But, as I just said, I’m not here for the money—I’m here to plead with you for help. The harassment needs to stop. Otherwise I’ll be forced to report it to the police—for the sake of my own safety and my little boy’s.”

Mrs. Hallin looked caught off her guard. She shook her head several times without saying anything, but her eyes were fixed on Sandra’s. Sandra felt incredibly sorry for the woman, who had done nothing to deserve what she was suffering now.

“Jan . . .” Mrs. Hallin stuttered. “He would never . . . I’ve known him for almost thirty years, and he’s not capable of . . . How could he possibly stage a car crash to hurt you? He can’t even clip someone around the ear. The whole thing sounds preposterous.”

Sandra was ashamed and almost regretted involving the innocent wife in this feud. At once she felt both selfish and inconsiderate, and shrunk a little inside herself. She hoped it wasn’t visible on the outside—she needed all the presence she could summon to lead the conversation where she wanted it to go.