Chapter 10
I did not take Carter's company.
I did not seize his entire fortune.
I did not need to.
I had my own property, my own legal rights, and a financial future that did not depend on whether he approved of me.
When the last document was placed in front of us, Carter looked at the pages for a long time.
Then he looked at me.
“Is this really how you want it to end?”
I considered the question.
“No,” I said honestly. “But it's how it has to end.”
His jaw tightened.
“You could have come to me before all this.”
“I tried to come to you for years.”
“That isn't what I mean.”
“I know.”
He glanced at the settlement.
“You'll be fine financially.”
It was meant to sound like a concession.
Perhaps he expected me to thank him.
I almost felt sorry for him.
Even now, he still believed that my greatest concern was whether I would be comfortable without his money.
“Carter,” I said, “I was fine before you knew what I was worth.”
He looked away.
For the first time, he had no argument.
We signed the final settlement.
Eight years of marriage ended with the scratch of pens against paper.
No applause.
No laughter from Patricia.
No audience to watch him win.
Just two people who had once promised each other forever, acknowledging that forever had become impossible.
---
Patricia called me three days later.
I nearly let it go to voicemail.
Curiosity won.
“Evelyn,” she began, her voice clipped and formal. “I think we should talk.”
“About what?”
“About the family.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“What about it?”
“Carter has been through a difficult time. The company is under pressure, and people are talking. This situation has become very embarrassing.”
There it was.
Not *I'm sorry*.
Not *I shouldn't have laughed at you*.
Embarrassment.
“I'm sorry the investigation has been difficult for the employees,” I said. “I hope the company recovers quickly.”
“That isn't what I meant.”
“I know.”
She inhaled sharply.
“You must understand that Carter was under a great deal of stress. He made mistakes, perhaps, but you know how demanding his position is.”
I remembered that private dining room.
The papers beside my plate.
Her wineglass lifted in a toast.
Her laughter when her son challenged me to survive without him.
“Patricia, do you remember what you said to me at dinner?”