Chapter 15
My bruise had faded from purple to yellow.
His eyes landed on it.
Then on my belly.
“Emma.”
Claire shifted slightly beside me.
Grant caught himself.
He sat across the table.
For the first twenty minutes, lawyers spoke.
Mortgage payments.
Insurance.
Household expenses.
Medical coverage.
Access to personal belongings.
Grant barely looked at the documents.
He looked at me.
Finally, his attorney requested a short break.
Grant asked if he could speak.
Claire looked at me.
I nodded.
Grant folded his hands.
“I am sorry.”
I waited.
He swallowed.
“What I did was unforgivable.”
I had dreamed about hearing those words.
Not after the slap.
Long before.
After the wrist.
After the phone.
After the doorway.
After the highway.
I had imagined the relief of him finally seeing me.
Now the words sounded strangely small.
He continued.
“I was angry. I was embarrassed. Everything happened at once.”
There it was.
Explanation arriving behind apology.
“I should never have touched you.”
“No,” I said.
His eyes tightened.
“Vanessa is over.”
I almost laughed.
He misunderstood my silence.
“It ended that morning.”
“That isn’t important to me.”
He looked genuinely shocked.
“Emma.”
“What?”
“She’s gone.”
“You still think this is about whether you choose her or me.”
His attorney shifted uncomfortably.
Grant stared at me.
“I’m telling you I choose my family.”
“No.”
My voice was quiet.
“You’re choosing the version of your life you had before everyone saw what happened.”
His face hardened.
Claire touched her pen but said nothing.
Grant leaned forward.
“You think I don’t love you?”
“I think you believe loving me gives you permission to define what happens to me.”
“That’s not fair.”
The sentence was automatic.
I almost smiled.
Fair.
He had hit his pregnant wife while his mistress stood in her coat, and now we were discussing fairness.
“You told Vanessa I got pregnant to keep you.”
His eyes moved away.
“That was stupid.”
“You told her our marriage had been over for months.”
“I was lying to her.”
“You gave her a key.”
“I made a mistake.”
“She walked into our bedroom.”
“I know.”
“She took my mother’s coat.”
“I know.”
“She wore my jewelry.”
His voice broke.
“I know.”
“And when I asked her to leave, you protected her from discomfort before you protected me from humiliation.”
He looked at the table.
For the first time since I had known him, Grant seemed unable to manufacture an answer.