Z

The settlement conference was scheduled for December 12.

I expected a war.

Instead, Vincent surrendered almost everything I asked for.

The Henderson property he'd purchased during our marriage?

Mine.

My investment accounts?

Untouched.

The apartment?

Mine if I wanted it.

Spousal support?

I declined.

Sophia's trust?

Vincent doubled it.

Rebecca stared at his attorney.

“This is either unusually mature or deeply suspicious.”

Paul sighed.

“He said you'd say that.”

I looked at Vincent.

“Why are you doing this?”

We sat across a polished conference table.

He wore a charcoal suit.

I wore the navy dress I'd purchased for what I privately called my marriage's funeral.

“Because you aren't asking for anything unreasonable.”

“I could ask for more.”

“Yes.”

“You'd give it to me?”

“If it's yours.”

Rebecca leaned toward me.

“Ignore that question. Never negotiate emotionally.”

Vincent almost smiled.

I looked down at the proposed parenting plan.

Joint legal custody.

Primary physical custody with me initially.

Increasing overnights as Sophia got older.

Holidays divided.

No bringing romantic partners around Sophia for six months after beginning a serious relationship.

That clause hurt unexpectedly.

Someday there would be another woman.

Someday there might be another man for me.

The idea should have felt liberating.

Instead it felt like grief.

Vincent noticed where my eyes stopped.

“That was Paul's idea.”

Paul looked offended.

“It is a standard provision.”

Rebecca nodded.

“Reasonable.”

I turned the page.

The final section concerned the penthouse.

Vincent had offered it to me.

“I don't want it.”

His expression changed.

“Why?”

“Because I don't.”

“You designed half of it.”

“I designed a home.”

Silence.

“I don't want the building without the life I thought I had there.”

Vincent looked away.

Paul cleared his throat.

“We can sell it.”

“No,” Vincent said.

Everyone looked at him.

“I'll keep it.”

I understood immediately.

He couldn't let go.

A part of me wanted to hate him for making that hurt.

Instead, I signed the preliminary settlement.

Vincent stared at my signature.

The same way he had stared at the divorce petition months earlier.

Rebecca collected the papers.

“The final decree won't be entered until the statutory requirements are satisfied and the judge signs.”

I nodded.

Vincent said nothing.

The conference ended.

Outside the law office, he followed me toward the elevator.

“Claire.”

I stopped.

“What?”

“Do you want this?”

I stared.

“The settlement?”

“The divorce.”

My first instinct was anger.

“You don't get to ask that.”

“I know.”

“Then don't.”

“I need to know.”

“You needed to know whether I wanted you at my C-section.”

He flinched.

“That wasn't fair,” I said immediately.

“Yes, it was.”

“No. It was cruel.”

“Both can be true.”

The elevator arrived.

Neither of us entered.

Vincent stood several feet away.

“I stopped fighting the divorce because I don't want you staying married to me because I can make leaving difficult.”

That sounded painfully like growth.

“I could fight custody,” he continued. “I could fight assets. I could make this take years.”

“I know.”

“But if the only way I can keep my wife is trapping her in legal proceedings, then I already lost her.”

My throat tightened.

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.”

I looked at him.

“I want the divorce because I don't trust myself with you.”

Confusion crossed his face.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I still love you.”

He stopped breathing.

I had never intended to say it.

Now the truth was between us.

His voice dropped.

“Claire.”

“No.”

He didn't move closer.

Smart man.

“I still love you,” I repeated, “and that scares me because loving you made me accept things I should never have accepted.”

“I won't ask you to.”

“You didn't ask before.”

He looked stricken.

“I kept making excuses for you. The meetings. The security emergencies. The missed dinners.”

My eyes filled.

“I told myself being married to Vincent Moretti required sacrifice.”

“It shouldn't have required all of yours.”

“Exactly.”

The elevator doors closed again.

Neither of us noticed.

“I need the divorce,” I said. “Not because I hate you.”

He swallowed.

“Because you love me.”

“Because I need to know I can stand outside this marriage and still be myself.”

Pain crossed his face.

Then he nodded.

“Okay.”

I stared at him.

“Okay?”

“I don't like it.”

A broken laugh escaped me.

“I noticed.”

“But I understand.”

That was somehow worse.

I pressed the elevator button again.

Before entering, I said, “You asked what I wanted.”

“Yes.”

“I want you to keep becoming the man you've been these last three months.”

His eyes held mine.

“Even if you never come back?”

“Especially then.”

The doors closed.

Vincent remained standing in the hallway.

For ten minutes.

Paul eventually found him.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“Good meeting, though.”

Vincent gave him a murderous look.

“Lawyers have strange definitions of good.”

Paul shrugged.

“You didn't lose custody. You didn't lose your company. You didn't lose your house.”

“I lost my wife.”

Paul considered correcting him.

Technically, not yet.

He decided against it.

Christmas arrived quietly.

Vincent spent Christmas morning with Sophia at Mom's house.

He brought one gift.

A handmade wooden music box engraved with her initials.

No diamonds.

No absurdly expensive designer clothing.

No miniature sports car.

I was impressed.

My mother wasn't.

“You bought that?”

Vincent shook his head.

“I made it.”

Mom nearly dropped her coffee.

“You?”

“I had help.”

“From whom?”

“A carpenter.”

“So you watched someone make it?”

Vincent looked offended.

“I sanded things.”

I laughed.

He turned toward me.

That smile again.

Warm.

Familiar.

Dangerous.

Later, after everyone left, I opened the card attached to Sophia's gift.

For my daughter,

I missed your first fifteen days.

I intend to spend the rest of my life making sure you never have to wonder where I am.

Love,

Dad.

I cried in my childhood bedroom that night.

Not because I wanted to undo the divorce.

Because Vincent was finally becoming someone worthy of being trusted.

And I didn't know whether that transformation had come too late for us.