Chapter 8 - THE LETTER IN THE WALL
The past returned through Walter Hayes.
Whitaker Advisory was renovating a larger office when Walter appeared carrying a wooden box.
“I found this.”
Carrie looked up.
“Where?”
“The Marino estate.”
She frowned.
Dominic had put the property on the market months earlier.
Walter had gone back to supervise the removal of personal archives.
“This was behind a false panel in Mr. Marino Senior’s study.”
Carrie opened the box.
Inside were letters.
Dozens.
All written by Dominic’s father, Anthony Marino.
Most were addressed to Margaret.
One was addressed to Dominic.
Never sent.
Carrie hesitated.
“We shouldn’t read it.”
Walter nodded.
“It belongs to him.”
That evening, Carrie drove to Dominic’s apartment.
She had never been there.
He opened the door wearing sweatpants and holding Grace, who had apparently decorated his cheek with mashed banana.
Carrie stared.
“What?”
“You have banana on your face.”
Dominic wiped the wrong side.
“Other cheek.”
He tried again.
Grace giggled.
Carrie smiled despite herself.
“I brought something.”
Dominic saw the box.
His expression changed.
They sat together.
He opened his father’s letter.
The handwriting was shaky.
Dominic,
If you ever become the kind of man who believes providing money excuses absence, remember me.
Dominic stopped reading.
Carrie watched him.
He continued.
I gave your mother houses when she needed conversation. Jewelry when she needed apologies. Vacations when she needed me to come home.
Do not inherit my worst mistake.
Dominic closed his eyes.
Carrie’s heart ached.
His father had died before they could have that conversation.
Dominic finished silently.
Then folded the letter.
“I became him.”
Carrie said nothing.
“Worse, maybe.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“You became yourself.”
That hurt differently.
But Carrie continued.
“Which means you can’t blame him.”
Dominic nodded.
“You’re right.”
“And you can’t blame Vanessa.”
“I know.”
“Or the company.”
“I know.”
Carrie looked at Grace.
“You chose.”
Dominic’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“And changing means choosing differently.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then Grace reached toward Carrie.
Dominic handed her over.
Their hands touched.
Neither pulled away immediately.
Two weeks later, Dominic attended Whitaker Advisory’s first anniversary reception.
He came as Grace’s father.
Not Carrie’s husband.
Not the former chairman of Marino Holdings.
He stood near the back while Carrie gave a speech.
She thanked her staff.
Walter.
Rebecca.
Maria.
Her clients.
Then she said:
“A year ago, I thought losing my marriage meant losing my life.”
Dominic lowered his eyes.
Carrie continued.
“I was wrong.”
The room became quiet.
“Sometimes the door you’re terrified to walk through is the first door that actually belongs to you.”
Applause filled the room.
Dominic clapped hardest.
Carrie saw him.
Later, a handsome investor named Aaron Cole spent fifteen minutes talking to Carrie.
Dominic watched from across the room.
Rebecca approached him.
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“The murder face.”
“I don’t have a murder face.”
Rebecca laughed.
“You absolutely have a murder face.”
Dominic looked away.
“Aaron is touching her arm.”
Rebecca glanced over.
“He touched her elbow.”
“Unnecessary.”
“She’s single.”
Dominic grimaced.
Rebecca smiled.
“Growth still terrible?”
“Extremely.”
Carrie appeared beside them.
“What’s terrible?”
“Nothing,” Dominic said.
Rebecca answered simultaneously.
“Jealousy.”
Dominic glared at her.
Carrie laughed.
He had missed that sound.
Aaron approached.
“Carrie, dinner sometime?”
Dominic became fascinated by a nearby plant.
Carrie noticed.
She looked at Aaron.
“You’re very sweet.”
Dominic stared harder at the plant.
“But no.”
His head almost turned.
Almost.
Aaron accepted gracefully and left.
Carrie stepped beside Dominic.
“Interesting plant?”
“Remarkable.”
“What kind?”
Dominic stared at it.
“I have absolutely no idea.”
Carrie laughed.
Then, unexpectedly, she slipped her arm through his.
Dominic froze.
“Don’t make it weird,” she whispered.
“I’m trying extremely hard.”
They stood together.
Not married.
Not reconciled.
Not strangers.
May you like
Something unnamed existed between those categories.
For now, it was enough.
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