Daniel continued begging me to withdraw the divorce.
At mediation, he leaned across the table with red eyes.
“I lost my company. My family hates me. Isn’t that enough?”
I studied the man I had once loved.
“No,” I said softly. “Because you still think this is about punishment.”
He swallowed.
For once, I no longer needed him to understand.
I only needed him to hear the answer.
“It’s about consequences.”
Our prenuptial agreement protected my inheritance.
The house, which had been purchased mostly with my money but was jointly titled, was sold.
I took my share and bought a smaller home fifteen minutes from my parents.
Six months later, my mother invited me to dinner.
She was wearing a cream blouse.
For a moment, I stared at it, remembering red wine running down her collar while strangers laughed.
My father noticed.
“You okay?”
I smiled.
“Better than okay.”
