Chapter 10
I didn’t.
“Sophie said you told her our marriage was already over.”
His head snapped toward me.
“She messaged you again?”
“That’s not the point.”
“I told her we were disconnected.”
“You told her you were leaving me.”
“I thought I was.”
“You did leave me.”
“No.” He looked directly at me. “I asked whether you would still keep your promise.”
I stared at him.
Then I finally understood something that made me colder than anger.
“You wanted me to make the decision.”
His face went still.
“You wanted to tell me you didn’t love me and have me say divorce so you wouldn’t have to.”
“Claire—”
“You wanted me to end it for you.”
“That’s not what I intended.”
“Maybe not consciously.”
I stepped backward.
“But that’s what you did.”
Julian looked as though I had struck him.
For twelve years, I had helped him make impossible decisions.
When companies failed, I helped him decide which ones to sell.
When executives betrayed him, I helped him decide whom to trust.
When his father died, I arranged everything because Julian couldn’t function.
And in the end, he had handed me one final terrible decision.
Even the ending of our marriage had become something he expected me to manage.
“I think you should go,” I said.
He stood there another moment.
Then he nodded.
Before getting into the car, he looked back.
“Are you happy here?”
I considered lying.
Instead I said, “Not yet.”
He nodded.
“That makes two of us.”
His Bentley disappeared down the mountain road.
That evening, Sophie messaged me.
Can we meet?
I nearly said no.
Then another message appeared.
I’m leaving Charleston. I just think there are things you deserve to hear from someone who isn’t Julian.
I stared at the screen.
I didn’t want details.
I didn’t want descriptions.
But I did want the truth.
So I typed:
Tomorrow. Noon. The café in Asheville across from Pack Square.
Her reply came immediately.
I’ll be there.
Chapter 4: THE OTHER WOMAN
Sophie looked younger without the restaurant uniform.
Not prettier.
Not uglier.
Just younger.
That bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
She was already seated when I arrived.
She stood immediately.
“Claire.”
“Sit.”
We did.
For several seconds, neither of us knew what to say.
Finally, Sophie whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not here for an apology.”
She nodded.
“I figured.”
“Why did you send the photograph?”