KILLING ME SOFTLY PT. 01 by LT56linebacker
My name is Michael Barron. My wife's name is Sofia Dawes Barron. I am the Executive Editor of the Chicago American Globe. She is the Senior Vice-President of Gravely Publishing. We have two children, Michael Junior, 23, and Ashley Sofia, 21. Junior is a senior at Princeton, studying International Diplomacy; Ash, as I call her, is at UC Berkeley, learning underwater basket weaving. (She will kill me.) Both are excellent students.
We both make very good money, she a little more than I. We were happy, or so I thought. We were looking forward to a fantastic weekend alone.
She had had a very stressful week and had been looking forward to this gala for a while. She had a new dress, black, backless, strapless, cut about 2 inches over her knees, and slightly slit up the left side.
She was wearing a diamond necklace I had given her for our 25th wedding anniversary. Sapphire earrings (her favorites) and a Princess Diana Replica ring. Her blonde hair was done in an upsweep; she looked stunning.
I had on my Brooks Brothers tuxedo. Nuff said about that.
She was standing above 12 feet away with her back against a fake fireplace, drinking from a champagne flute, laughing and giggling like a college co-ed. I didn't have a problem with that; it was the sleazy, slimy-looking bastard that was chatting her up, with subtly little touches to her arm, shoulder, whispering into her ear with his smug grin. He had just said something to her, and she was nodding her head yes. 'O.K., this has gone far enough. It's time to rescue her from this preditor.'
I put down my old-fashioned glass and was just about to go to her aid when a soft female hand grabbed my arm.
"Don't do anything. My wife is under his spell, and his goons are watching you." I looked down to a striking brunette at my side. She motioned to a tough-looking mug about 15 feet to my left, who appeared to be watching only me. Then she motioned to the balcony doors, and there was another one standing there, studying the crowd.
"He's going to take her onto the balcony and try to do something and make his pitch to her. He will probably try to feel her up and get his hand in her panties. It's what he does. If your wife doesn't succumb to his advances, he will choose someone else. But he hardly ever strikes out."
"No offense."
I watched as my smiling wife walked with Mr. Slime across to the balcony and out the doors. The two goons closed the doors and took up positions. I turned to the woman, who had a sad look on her face as she took a sip from her whiskey sour.
"Who are you, and how do you know these things?"
"That was me, seven years ago."
I was shocked. Lana maneuvered me to get my back to the doors to the balcony and proceeded to explain.
“I was here with my husband, supporting the children's society, and we were having a good time. We were going to make a significant donation. He started chatting with me. The next thing I remember, he was caressing my back and telling us to “Go outside.” I was amazed by his beauty and followed him to the balcony. Outside, he grabbed my chest and asked if I liked it. I was stunned, but excited. He slid his hand down my dress and into my tights.
"He slid two fingers into my pussy, and found my g-spot. I instantaneously orgasmed, wetting myself like never before. Then he made his proposal; he would take me home for the weekend. We would make mad passionate love, and then I would return home. A one-time thing, never to be repeated. I was to walk back to my husband and tell him I was leaving for the weekend with him. He would stand behind me and watch, and then we would go.
"That's what I did. My husband was an accountant; it devastated him.
"When I got home from the weekend, he would not even look at me. I told him it wasn't anything we could not overcome. But he could never get an erection again. We began to drift apart. I started going out at night looking for random hookups. He withdrew into himself. His work started to suffer; he got fired.
"I came home one night and found him hanging from the rafters in the basement. I spent seven months in a hospital psychiatric therapy ward.
"My three children were fourteen down to ten years old. They refused to talk to me; someone told them what had happened. My parents sued to get custody. I have no idea what they are doing, even though I have visitation rights. As soon as they get old enough, they sue for emancipation, and then they refuse to see or talk to me.
She looked at her watch; "It took about fifteen minutes to turn me. He's been our there about twelve, and I..." With that, she said to me, "Don't turn around. Don't look at them. Ignore them. If she talks to you, refuse to look at her. She is going to say she has something to tell you. If she does, say what you think you want to, and we will leave. Together.
"It will piss him off something fierce, and it might change her mind. It might be the only satisfaction you get, for now.
"We will go somewhere and decompress; talk. Can you do that?"
"Hide and watch."
He heard her heels as she came up behind him. She placed her hand on his upper left arm. "Michael, I have something to tell you." I shook my arm free and snarled at her behind my back. "Get away from me, slut. Do what you are going to do. But if you don't come home tonight, DON'T COME HOME AT ALL. WE ARE THROUGH, AND I WILL DESTROY YOU. YOU HAVE MORE TO LOSE THAN I DO." "Miss Lana." I extended my arm, and we left.
"Michael, I need to speak to you. NOW."
It had gotten tranquil, and people moved aside to let us pass. We made our way out to the entrance. "How did you arrive here?" I asked her. "Car service." "Allow me, ma'am," I said. They brought my Lincoln up front and opened the door. She got in, and I tipped the young man on the driver's side, got it, and left. "I know a place we can go and talk if you don't mind."
"Excellent suggestion, Michael. I need a drink."
We drove to the Corral, a spot I knew which was relatively quiet and catered to a middle-aged crowd. We parked, went in, got a table in the back, and ordered drinks and potato skins. She told me her story, what was left of it, and I filled her in on Sofia and myself.
She was a college professor and had taken quite a hit in her career when the story got out. I told her I was the Executive Editor at the Chicago American Globe. I had six years in the Air Force, 17th Spec. Ops and had been a reporter and newspaperman for close to twenty years. We had two children, a son, Michael Junior, and a daughter, Ashley Sofia. Both in college, out of state.
"So, what do you think you are going to do?"
"Do??? I don't even know what I am feeling, let alone what to do. If she isn't at home when I get there, it's scorched earth time. She will pay, and he, Oh he will pay. I..I ... OH, CHRIST," ...And I started to cry.
She took my hand and looked at me like the world was ending for both of us.
I studied her face and could see that I could get lucky if I wanted to. But I couldn't. If there was any chance, I couldn't.
"Look, I'm sorry, but rebound sex is not me. I have to get home and take care of this. Please give me your number and contact info to stay in touch and maybe bounce things off you. I also need shithead's name so that I can start his demise."
She took my phone and put her full name, Lana Toolie, and her phone number in, as well as her address. "Micheal, you're a good man. You have been wronged. I was hoping for something more, but I can respect your decision. Go home, and try to fix this. Good luck."
I paid the bill, and we got up and left. I took her home, and she got out and went into her townhome.
I drove home and went inside. Sofia wasn't there."O.K., She's made her choice."
It was 12:39 a.m. I got my cellphone and called my best friend, Steve Dawson. He was also my lawyer. We had been in the Air Force together and always joked that he became a lawyer, and I got a respectable job.
A groggy voice answered my call, "Hello?? Micheal? What the fuck, Mike? It's a quarter to one. Is everything O.K.?"
"No, Steve, it's not. I need you here at 10:00 this morning in full lawyer mode, and maybe in best-friend mode. I need a divorce."
Now I had his attention. I could hear his wife in the background. "It's Mike; there's a problem... You went to that gala, didn't you? Sofia met Darren Wodson, didn't she?? ... Oh, Christ, you didn't know..."
"Just be here, Steve, please?... For me."
"No problem, I'll be there."
I started to make a list; things to do. I looked up the name of a bonded locksmith and noted his phone number. Then I got online and found a site that paid cash for a clear title car. I had gotten a BMW for her for a twenty-fourth wedding anniversary present. It was in my name. I made a note of their number and then went and packed her two tiny overnight bags with underwear, two changes of clothes, and two pairs of shoes. I took them down to the foyer and put them by the front door. Then I went to bed.
I awoke at 7:00 a.m. and went and made coffee. I spooled up my computer and accessed the newsroom bullpen. I saw that Joe Spillane, an investigative reporter, was on duty. I called Joe and told him what I needed: Everything he could find on one Darren Wodson. This was for my eyes only. It would be a favor. " No problem, chief. I will get right on it."
Still no sign of my soon-to-be ex-wife. It was now almost 10:00, and I was getting more and more morose. I called the cash-for-car guy and told him I had a car for sale: clear title, valid Illinois title, and registration, and I was the owner. I told him make and model and that I wanted a quick sale. "I don't know, a two-year-old BMW, how much do you want? A fancy ride like that, it might be hard to get the money quick ..." "Two thousand dollars," I said. He stuttered and asked if it was hot. "No, but you have to be prepared to take it with you." "What's your address?" I told him, and he said he'd be there in twenty-five minutes."Don't sell to anybody else. Wait for me, Andy," and he hung up.
About ten minutes later, as I was getting off the phone with the locksmith, my buddy Steve showed up with his paralegal, Dottie. We went in, and I treated them to coffee and English muffins. About twenty minutes later, Andy showed up. I showed him the car, the registration, and the title. He asked me what was wrong with it. I told him nothing was wrong; I didn't need another car. He looked at me funny and wanted to know why I was selling it. I to him I was getting a divorce, and my ex-wife won't be needing it anymore. "Wow, I'm glad you're not divorcing me."
They had brought a flatbed tow truck, and I signed everything and dated it. Andy paid me and loaded up the car. I shook his hand, and he wished me good luck. Still no slut wife.
I went into the house and found my legal beagles hard at work in the dining room. The divorce decree was drawn up, and the restraining order was ready. They were working on the alienation of affection lawsuit.
Steve asked what was going on with the car? I told him I had sold it; I didn't need it. "You didn't do anything illegal. A little nasty, but what the hell. Actually, I am impressed with the amount of restrain. So, let's get online and take care of all the financials."
For the next forty-five minutes, we alternated between the bank, the investment companies, insurance companies, cell phones, mortgage carriers, and HR with my pensions. By noon, still no missing wife, and the locksmith had changed all the locks and added a keyless deadbolt on the front, back, and side doors.
I took them on to lunch, and we met Steve's wife, Deirdre, nicknamed Dee-Dee, at the Saltgrass Steak House. She ran up to me and wrapped me in an embrace that told me I was still a good guy.
We got a table, and Dee-Dee looked at me, waiting for me to take the lead. Finally, I looked at her and said, "What??" She said she wasn't sure what the situation was, what was my course of action and did I do anything to precipitate it.
"I didn't do anything except assume my wife loved me. The cunt blindsided me, and I'm still reeling with it all. Is there any way back? FUCK, NO!! She still isn't home, and about the only way around this is if she turns up dead."
Dee-Dee looked at me sadly, and nodded, and said she understood. She couldn't understand what made Sofia do it.
We talked for a while, and then we left and went home. I arrived at about 6:00 p.m. and still was alone. No wife.
I cracked a Bud and fell asleep in my recliner.
I awoke at 7:00 a.m. and dragged my tired and aching body to the shower. I cleaned up and did something I hid not done in several years. I went to church.
The church was somewhat helpful. I sat in the back and bowed my head, praying for guidance and intercession. Nothing. God was hanging me out to dry. Mass ended, and I stayed for a while, praying for something. I guess I'm on my own. So be it.
I drove home and got a coffee at a fast-food place. I got home and put the Lincoln in the garage next to my 1980 full-size Bronco. Pretty soon, the weather would make that a daily driver.
I locked the garage door and pinned the rod. Then I went in and spooled up the boob tube: Bears-Lions football, the first game of the season. Of course, the Bears got their ass handed to them. That was my life now. At 5:30, I got a text from slut girl- 'On my way. Be home in twenty minutes.' The restraining order went into effect in thirty minutes—everything coming to a head.
Twenty minutes later, I heard a foreign engine whining in my driveway. I looked out the window and saw some European piece of shit sitting there, and Sofia unfolded herself from the passenger side. She leaned in and laid a kiss on someone. I could only assume it was Darren Woodson.
She stood up, and shut the door, and waved as he drove away. Then she turned and toddled up the walk on her four-inch heels to the stairs and climbed to the front door. She tried her old keys, then realized they didn't work in the new electromagnetic locks. 'What the hell?' she thought. Then she noticed the two small overnight bags to the side of the doorway. "What the hell is this??"
She leaned on the bell, ringing it ceaselessly. She yelled two or three times, "OPEN THE GODDAM DOOR, MICHEAL!!"
I finally got up, and went to the door, and opened it to my very pissed-off wife. She looked at me with murder in her eyes and asked me what the hell was going on? "Simply, Sofia. Your keys don't work anymore because you don't live here anymore. My former wife used to live here, but she's not around anymore."
Her eyes got huge, and she attempted to draw me in for a kiss." But honey... "she started.
"Don't even think about it. I don't know where that thing has been. Or who it's been on. How many times did you fuck the asshole??"
"We didn't 'fuck'; we made love, and it was beautiful."
“OH PLEASE ME! You were gone for two days and two nights. You didn't even call. I bet you have never thought about your “loving husband.” You didn't take off your wedding rings when you satisfied him??"
She recoiled in horror and started to stutter.
"At least you kept your anniversary necklace and earrings. Well, they were gifts, so they are yours," and I grabbed her left hand and removed her rings. "But these are mine. And your engagement ring was my grandmother's. You do remember when I proposed to you, don't you? You won't be needing them anymore." She started to cry and was shaking.
"Why are you doing this?" she blurted out. "It was just sex; I was entitled to it. You don"t own my body." She was getting some of the bluster back. "You need to lose the ego, Michael. We have to get on with our lives."
"You're right, and I have been trying to do that. Here, this is for you." I handed her the envelope, and she just looked at it. "What's This?" she said. "Money. I sold my car, the BMW. I didn't need it anymore." You would have thought a snake had bitten her. "WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY CAR??"
"It wasn't your car; I bought it for you. My name was on the title, the registration, and the insurance. I owned it free and clear. So I sold it. I figured it would be a nice gesture to give you the money. That's all of it."
"Ther's only," she ruffled through the bills, "what, two thousand dollars here!! That car was worth more than that. What's the meaning of this??"
"That's all it was worth, a lot like our marriage after Friday night. I told you I would destroy you, and you had a lot more to lose than I did."
The look on her face was priceless. Her eyes bugged out, and she started to whine again.
"HOW COULD YOU BE SO CRUEL!! I CAME HOME TO YOU!!"
"Boy, I guess I'm a lucky guy." Stats when iI notice her right hand had no rings on it. "Where's the Princess Di ring, Sofia?? The one you HAD to have. I wanted to get an actual facsimile of it made for you, but you said you liked the knockoff. You just wanted that one. So I got it for you, to make you happy. WHERE IS IT, SLUT??"
Her complexion went pale; She started to stutter; "I-I -He..." "HE WHAT, SLUT??"
"He wanted a memento of our weekend," she blushed, her eyes downcast.
"SO, IN ADDITION TO YOUR BODY, YOU GAVE AWAY THE RING YOU SAID YOU LOVED!!"
She blushed and nodded her head yes.
He looked at his watch. 6:03 p.m. "Get the fuck out, Sophia. We are done."
"No, I want to come into the hose. I live here."
"Not anymore, you don't!" He slammed the door in her face and threw the deadbolts. He turned and leaned his back against the three-inch-thick oak door. Tears sprung unbidden to his eyes, and he finally felt the pain.
She started ringing the doorbell and pounding on the door, screaming and yelling for him to let her in. He pulled out his cell phone and hit 911.
"911, what is your emergency- police, fire, or emergency rescue??"
I have a restraining order against my soon-to-be ex-wife. She is standing on my front steps, screaming and yelling like a deranged fool. Please sent someone; QUICKLY!!"
She continued to rant as I gave them my name and address.
Even minutes later, I heard the sirens and, looking through the window, saw two squad cars pull up, lights flashing. Three Male officers and one female officer got out. They approached a very irate, pissed-off wife and asked her to step away from the door. They asked for her I/D and noted her name and address. Then while the female officer talked to her, with one male cop standing by, the other two came to my door. As they were about to knock, I opened the door and presented them with the restraining order. They read it and called into the station. I then handed them Sophia's copy and said she would be served with apers tomorrow, but I would appreciate it if they didn't say anything about that. The one cop went to my wife, and handed her the order, and spoke to her. She read the notice and paled; then she went ballistic. They restrained her, and she screamed," Where am I supposed to go?"
"Got to HELL, Sophia. I DON'T CARE!!"
The cops told her she would have to leave and escorted her and her luggage to the curb. She pulled her cell phone out and called an Uber.
The cops apologized and waiting, while she told the driver to take her to the Penninsula Hotel. She got in and left.
Sophia arrived at work at Gravely Publishing. She took the elevator to the tenth floor and went to her office. Her executive assistant was waiting for her, as she was thirty minutes late to work. Jessica followed her into her office.
"Is it true?" Jess said.
Sophia jerked alert and looked at her friend and assistant.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"It's all over the office. You and Michael. You went to that gala Friday night."
Sophia sat down at her desk. "Yes, you know we did."
"What did you do the rest of the weekend??"
"I don't know what you mean," said Sophia.
"You did, didn't you? You went home with that thing, that sexual predator, and left Michael standing there. OH, CHRIST, YOU POOR, STUPID WOMAN!!"
She sagged into the chair to the left of Sophia's desk, and buried her face in her hands, and broke into tears.
Sophia was stunned and stared at her friend.
"How did you know?? I haven't told anyone or said anything. How did you find out? And who else knows??"
"EVERYONE KNOWS, YOU STUPID BITCH!!! The whole company knows, and it's only" she looked at her watch "ONLY 10:45."
Sophia paled and slumped in her chair.
Suddenly, her office door flew open; HER boss, Gwendolyn Harrelson, stormed into the office. She looked at the two women, back and forth, and blanched.
"OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, IT"S TRUE!!" she exclaimed.
Sophia staggered at the reaction from her boss and close friend. This situation was rapidly escalating.
Indignantly, Sophia bristled and said, "I think everyone is making way too much out of this."
"OH REALLY," said Gwen, smirking at her friend's naivete.
"Do you know who and what he is? How do you think all of Chicago and probably half the Midwest knows already??"
Sofia paled and looked down at her hands.
"What did Michael say?"
"He said we are through. He said he would destroy me as I had killed him. Just who does he think he is. He doesn't control me. He doesn't own me."
"HE'S YOUR HUSBAND, STUPID!!! ...... What did Michael do when you came home Sunday?"
She looked at her desk and started to sniffle.
"He sold my car. Said he didn't need it anymore because he didn't have a wife to drive it."
"OH MY GOD!" said Gwen.
Just then, the door slammed open, and in walked Stefani Jameson, Vice-President of Mortgages and Acquisitions for Chemical Bank. And another of Sophia's close friends. Angela, Sophia's secretary, followed her.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Barron, she just barged in."
"It's alright, Angela. Come on in, Stef," she said with some sarcasm.
"WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE??" Just then, Gwen's cell phone rang. "
"Hello??? .....Yes, Hank, I'm in her office right now. ....No. We have not heard from him yet. I'm just getting the dirty details now. ....YES, DEAR, I'll call as soon as I hear anything. .... Goodbye, dear."
"That was my husband. He wants to know if you have heard from Michael today."
"NO, I haven't talked to him since last night," said Sophia.
With that, she picked cell phone and hit speed dial #2. Her cell chirped twice and then said her service had been disconnected. She stared at the Nokia device like it was a scorpion.
"He cut off my phone," she whispered.
Gwen said, "OHH, this is not good. Not good at all."
Just then, Angela came in and said there was a young lady who needed to see her. "She said it was a matter of life and death. Something about your marriage."
It got frigid and quiet in Sophia's office. "Send her in, Angela."
A tall young lady with blonde hair, wearing a navy blue pencil skirt, ivory-colored blouse, three-inch heels, and a navy blue blazer, strode in with a small briefcase under her arm. She stepped to Sophia's desk and surveyed the assembled women. She finally settled on Sophia, looked her square in the eye, and said, "Are you Mrs. Sophia Barron, at least for now??"
Stephanie jumped on her. "Look here, princess. Who do you think you are?"
"Yes, I'm Mrs. Michael Barron. Do you have something for me?"
She had a horrible thought about what was coming.
"Congratulation, Cow, you've been served." She passed a large manilla envelope to Sophia, she snapped a photo and turned on her heel. She got to the door and turned to face the group.
"Seven years ago, my mother tore our family apart as you did. I hope you enjoyed it. Good day."
Sophia's head hit the desk with a thud, landing on the envelope she had received. Gwen rushed to her side and helped her to sit up. Sophia was hyperventilating, and she was having trouble drawing a breath. Stephanie pulled out her phone and pushed speed dial. She was connected to Michael's office.
"Chicago American Globe, Mr. Barron's office, may I help you?"
"I'm like to speak with Mr. Barron, please. This Mrs. Stephanie Jameson with Chemical Bank."
"May I say what this about, Ma'am?"
"It concerns his wife."
"I'm sorry, Ma'am, he is not accepting calls from his wife. He said to tell her to ...."
"JUST PUT HIM ON THE PHONE, BITCH!!!"
"Hold, please."
Soon, the connection clicked, and Micheal's voice emanated from the speaker.
"Well, Stephanie, the coven has convened around the bitch. I assume that Jessica and Gwendolyn are in attendance with the slut queen. .....What do you want?"
"Michael, you are being an ass. She is a basket case, and you're not helping. What do you think will happen?"
"Ask her what SHE thought would happen when she left on her 'weekend of wonderful sex'. Tell her to get a lawyer and talk to them. I will not speak to her until we sit down and speak to our children on Saturday. Goodbye, Stephanie." CLICK.
"Oh shit," said Gwen, "You're toast."
"Well," said Steph, "As I see it, your one chance is to crawl naked up State Street, go up to his twelve-floor office, spread yourself on his desk, and give him your butt hole. Oh, wait, you did that this weekend, didn't you, Stupid??"
Sophia's head hit the desk again. The resounding thunk resonated in the office, but no rushed to her aid.
Michael hung up the phone and punched the button for his son in New Jersey. Michael Junior was involved in a serious relationship with a fine young lady, and he hoped this would not affect it. But the talk needed to take place.
The phone rang three times, and his son picked up. "Dad, how you doing?"
"Not so good, son. How's Tara?"
"She's fine, dad; what's wrong? Is Mom o.k.? "
"She's fine, physically. I need to have you and your sister here for a family meeting on Saturday. Tara can come along; I will have two tickets at the counter on Friday; Janine will contact you with details. Don't ask any questions. Just come. It's Important."
"Dad, what's wrong? You're scaring me."
"Son, I haven't spoken to you like this for more than ten years, but I am doing so now. Now. Do as I am telling you to, and don't ask questions."
He hung up. He would not poison their minds against their mother; he would let them make up their own minds. He would trust their judgment.
The conversation with his daughter was basically the same, only a little more emotional. She said she would see him on Friday.
The rest of his day when quietly. He spoke with his attorney and talked with his P/I about the trace on Darron Wodson.
Back at Gravely Publishing, the women were assembled in a war council, trying to support their friend. But it wasn't easy. Sophia was babbling and crying.
"WHAT HAVE I DONE? WHAT HAVE I DONE?" She was inconsolable. She had no grasp on reality. Finally, Gwen took control.
"We need to suck it up and get on an equal footing." She got on her cell and called a friend.
"Hello, Carolyn? This is Gwen, Gwendolyn Harrelson? Yes, I was hoping you could represent a friend of mine in a divorce procedure. ... Her name is Sophia Barron. ....Yes, her husband is Michael Barron. ........ I beg your pardon?? WHAT??? ....Yes, I understand. THANKS, A LOT!!!"
"What was that all about?"
"She's already toxic. That was Carolyn Herrera. She's a shark, and she hates bastard husbands, almost as much as she hates cheating spouses. Then she heard Sophia's name; she already heard through the grapevine what happened. She said if she took this case, her husband would divorce her; they've got five children, are seriously Catholic, and both know Michael and Sophia. She also knows about the asshole."
Stefani said, "Let me try." She pulled out her cellphone and dialed a number."Yes, this Stefani Jameson. I need to talk to Brett Walker. ...Yes, about a divorce action. .....Hello, Brett? I need to speak to you about a divorce action ...... Oh, you have. Huh. Well, thanks for nothing."
"You really are bad news, sweetie. Shit, I don't know who else to talk to about this. He heard about what happened and said, 'You deserve whatever happens to you.' Also that he would not go up against Steve Dawson in this if his mother's life depended on it."
Sophia's head fell to her desk again but hit her arms this time.
So I got down to cases; I had some friends who can make some mischief for me. Nothing serious, and I didn't want them to get caught. Sugar in the gas tank. Paint balloons all over his pretty car. Once all that was fixed, they attacked the hood, sides, roof, and rear deck with an air grinder and a Roto-Zip tool. Then they proceeded to flatten all four tires and slash the sidewalls. Expensive Michelinns shot to shit.
This retribution would go on for the foreseeable future. Price was no object.
She had trouble getting a lawyer but finally landed a femi-nazi who agreed to take her case.
So it came down to the family conference.
