Chapter 4 - The Woman I Had Forgotten
By Friday morning, Nathan had sent thirty-two messages.
They progressed through every version of the man I had married.
Apologetic Nathan.
I made the worst mistake of my life.
Practical Nathan.
We need to separate personal issues from Harbor Point.
Romantic Nathan.
Remember Savannah? We can still be those people.
Angry Nathan.
You’re letting strangers poison you against me.
And finally, frightened Nathan.
Please call me.
I answered none.
Instead, I went somewhere I had avoided for almost six years.
My old photography studio.
Technically it wasn’t mine anymore.
The building belonged to an artist collective near Charleston’s French Quarter. I had rented a tiny upstairs room there before Nathan’s business began consuming every free hour I possessed.
The current manager, Maya Reynolds, recognized me immediately.
“Clara Bennett?”
Hearing my maiden name startled me.
Maya smiled.
“I bought one of your prints eight years ago.”
“You did?”
“Storm over Folly Beach. Black-and-white.”
I remembered the photograph.
I remembered standing barefoot in wet sand at six in the morning waiting for lightning.
I remembered being twenty-six and certain that my life would be full of images.
“Do you still shoot?”
The question embarrassed me.
“Sometimes.”
“That sounds like no.”
I smiled weakly.
Maya showed me around.
A small studio upstairs had recently become available.
White walls.
One tall window.
Old hardwood floor.
Nothing luxurious.
I loved it immediately.
“How much?”
She told me.
Six years ago, I would have panicked at the number.
Now I realized I could afford it.
That afternoon, I signed a six-month lease.
It was the first contract I had signed in years that contained only my name.
Clara Bennett.
I stared at it after Maya left.
Then I cried.
Not because of Nathan.
Because I suddenly remembered myself.
The next morning, I drove to Sullivan’s Island before sunrise.
I carried my camera down the beach.
At first, I felt ridiculous.
Then the sky turned pale pink over the Atlantic.
A father carried a sleepy little boy toward the water.
An elderly woman walked two golden retrievers along the shoreline.
A fisherman stood alone beneath a cloud of gulls.
My fingers remembered before my mind did.
Aperture.
Shutter.
Light.
Timing.
I took 214 photographs.
For three hours, Nathan did not exist.
When I finally checked my phone, there was a voicemail from his mother.
Margaret Carter.
I almost deleted it.
Instead, I listened.
“Clara, sweetheart, I don’t know exactly what happened, but Nathan is falling apart. Marriage is difficult. Your father-in-law and I survived things you wouldn’t believe. Please don’t make permanent decisions because of temporary pain.”
Temporary.
Eight months was apparently temporary when it belonged to her son.
I deleted the voicemail.
Then another notification appeared.
An email.
From Nathan.
Subject: Please read before Monday.
He had written nearly two thousand words.
He admitted the affair.
He apologized.
He blamed stress without technically blaming stress.
He said Victoria had made him feel admired during a period when he felt I had become distant.
That line made me laugh aloud.
I had become distant because he had disappeared.
Then came the real reason for the email.
Harbor Point.
If I refused to sign, the financing structure could collapse.
Employees could lose jobs.
Investors could lose money.
Years of work could disappear.
Nathan framed my signature as an act of responsibility.
He was still trying to make me responsible for saving him.
I forwarded the email to Evelyn.
Her reply came ten minutes later.
Do not respond. Meeting at 2.
At Evelyn’s office, another attorney joined us.
Daniel Reyes.
Corporate law.
He reviewed Nathan’s company documents and my original equity agreement.
Then he looked at me.
“Mrs. Carter, do you know what your husband’s company is worth?”
“Approximately twenty million?”
Daniel shook his head.
“Based on the most recent private valuation, closer to forty-eight.”
I stared at him.
“And your contractual interest may apply to a substantial portion of its appreciation.”
I felt dizzy.
Nathan had repeatedly told me the company’s profits were being reinvested.
We lived comfortably, but not extravagantly.
I had never asked for detailed valuations.
I trusted him.
That word was beginning to feel embarrassing.
Daniel continued.
“There’s another issue. Your original investment wasn’t a gift. The documentation characterizes it as capital.”
“So?”
“So your husband may have spent years describing Carter Development publicly as entirely self-made while privately acknowledging your ownership.”
I remembered countless interviews.
Nathan standing in hard hats.
Nathan shaking hands.
Nathan talking about building something from nothing.
I had watched those interviews proudly.
Not once had he mentioned the woman photographing his first listings at midnight.
“I don’t care about credit.”
Daniel nodded.
“Maybe not. But you should care about control.”
Monday morning arrived.
I did not sign.
At 9:42, Nathan called.
At 9:47, again.
At 10:03, Evelyn received a call from his lawyer.
At 11:15, Harbor Point’s scheduled closing was postponed.
At 12:30, Nathan appeared outside my new studio.
I was editing photographs when he knocked.
He looked terrible.
Unshaven.
Wrinkled shirt.
No jacket.
For a moment, compassion rose automatically.
Five years of marriage does not disappear because someone deserves your anger.
Then I remembered that compassion did not require surrender.
I opened the door but did not invite him in.
“How did you find me?”
“Emma.”
I made a mental note to murder my sister.
Nathan looked past me.
“You rented a studio?”
“Yes.”
“For photography?”
“Yes.”
A strange expression crossed his face.
“I didn’t know you still wanted this.”
There were a thousand things I could have said.
Instead:
“You stopped asking.”
He flinched.
“Clara, Harbor Point is frozen.”
“I know.”
“Twenty-three people have spent two years on that project.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have built its financing around assets you didn’t control.”
“I thought we were a team.”
I actually stared at him.
Nathan realized what he had said.
His shoulders dropped.
“That came out wrong.”
“No. It came out perfectly.”
He stepped closer.
“I’ll end things with Victoria.”
“She already ended them with you.”
His face registered surprise.
That gave me an ugly little satisfaction I wasn’t proud of.
“You talked to her?”
“Yes.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Enough.”
Nathan looked toward the window.
Then his eyes returned to mine.
“I love you.”
There it was.
The sentence I had wanted for months.
It arrived only after his project stalled.
I searched his face, hoping desperately that something inside me would respond.
Something did.
Grief.
“I think you loved having me,” I said. “I’m not sure that’s the same thing.”
His eyes reddened.
“Give me one chance.”
“I gave you hundreds.”
Nathan swallowed.
Then his phone rang.
He ignored it.
It rang again.
Finally he checked the screen.
His face drained of color.
“What?”
“What happened?”
He looked at me.
“The Harbor Point investors just called an emergency board meeting.”
“So?”
Nathan said nothing for several seconds.
Then:
May you like
“They’re asking whether I misrepresented the collateral.”
And suddenly the affair was no longer Nathan’s only problem.
