Chapter 9 - THE DIVORCE PAPERS
Three months later, snow fell over Boston.
Grace came home weighing seven pounds, two ounces.
Dominic had prepared the Vascari estate as though a small queen were arriving.
Mara hated almost all of it.
“The nursery has biometric security?”
“Yes.”
“Dominic.”
“Two redundant power systems.”
“Dominic.”
“Hospital-grade air filtration.”
“She is a baby, not a nuclear launch code.”
He looked offended.
“The pediatrician approved the filtration.”
Mara laughed.
It surprised both of them.
Grace slept between them in Mara's arms.
For three months, Dominic had asked for nothing.
He attended every neonatal appointment.
Changed diapers badly.
Learned infant CPR.
Slept in a chair beside Grace's crib during her first fever.
And when Mara moved into the guest wing rather than their old bedroom, he did not argue.
He was learning that remorse was not a currency.
You could not accumulate enough good behavior and demand forgiveness as payment.
One evening, Mara found him in the study.
The divorce papers were on his desk.
Signed.
His signature waited beneath hers.
“You signed them.”
“You wanted them.”
“Eight months ago.”
“Yes.”
She stared.
“You're not going to fight?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Dominic closed his pen.
“Because loving you doesn't make your choices mine.”
Mara's throat tightened.
“When did you become reasonable?”
“Approximately when my four-pound daughter screamed at me for holding a bottle incorrectly.”
She laughed.
Then cried.
Dominic stood but did not approach.
“I failed you before Gideon ever touched your car.”
“Dominic—”
“No. Let me finish.”
She did.
“I believed Celeste because her version of you required nothing from me. If you were jealous, difficult, paranoid, then I didn't have to examine why my wife was afraid.”
Mara lowered her eyes.
“I made mistakes too.”
“You left because you thought it would protect us.”
“I should have found another way.”
“Yes.”
She looked up sharply.
Dominic smiled sadly.
“You don't need me to lie and say everything you did was right. We both failed.”
Mara walked toward the desk.
“What happens after the divorce?”
“You choose.”
“And Grace?”
“We raise her.”
“Together?”
“As much as you'll allow.”
She touched the papers.
“Do you still love me?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No strategy.
“Celeste?”
“No.”
“Did you love her?”
Dominic considered the question carefully.
“I loved how easy she made selfishness feel.”
Mara nodded.
That answer she believed.
She picked up the divorce papers.
Then tore them in half.
Dominic stared.
“This does not mean everything is fixed.”
“I know.”
“We go slowly.”
“Yes.”
“You don't track me.”
“No.”
“You don't put guards on me without asking.”
“Agreed.”
“You don't buy my obstetrician's building because you dislike parking.”
Dominic paused.
Mara narrowed her eyes.
“You bought the building?”
“The parking situation was objectively unacceptable.”
She stared at him.
He almost smiled.
Mara threw the torn divorce papers at his chest.
Dominic caught her wrist gently.
Then immediately released it.
That tiny motion mattered more than either expected.
Mara stepped closer.
She kissed him.
Once.
Softly.
Then backed away.
Dominic looked stunned.
“That was not forgiveness,” she said.
“What was it?”
“A down payment.”
“For?”
“Possibility.”
He smiled.
It was enough.
Then the study window shattered.
Dominic threw Mara down.
A bullet struck the wall.
Security alarms erupted.
He covered her body.
Outside, guards ran through the snow.
Dominic looked at the bullet embedded in the wood.
Mara whispered:
“Gideon?”
“No.”
Gideon was awaiting trial under federal protection.
Dominic pulled the bullet free with pliers.
A symbol had been carved into the casing.
Lucia entered moments later.
When she saw it, her face drained.
“What?”
Dominic held it up.
Lucia whispered a name.
“Moretti.”
Mara frowned.
“Who is Moretti?”
Dominic looked toward Grace's nursery.
“The man Gideon was planning to sell the harbor to.”
Lucia shook her head.
“No.”
May you like
Her voice was barely audible.
“The man your father stole it from first.”
