Chapter 7 - THE PAPERS I COULDN'T SIGNThe divorce papers sat in my desk for six weeks.
I signed contracts worth millions during that time.
Payroll documents.
Lease amendments.
Vendor agreements.
Insurance forms.
Everything except those papers.
Sophia found out accidentally.
She saw the folder while visiting my studio.
“You haven't signed?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“If I knew, I would probably have signed or burned them.”
She sat across from me.
“Do you want Alexander back?”
“I don't want my old marriage back.”
“That wasn't my question.”
I hated that.
“I don't know.”
Sophia smiled.
“You two really were made for each other.”
“Please leave.”
She laughed.
Then became serious.
“What are you afraid of?”
“Becoming small again.”
That answer came immediately.
I stared at the folder.
“I know how easy it was.”
“You aren't the same woman.”
“People say that like becoming stronger means you can't become weak again.”
Sophia nodded.
“Fair.”
“And Alexander isn't magically fixed because he goes to therapy and says the right things.”
“Also fair.”
“What if I return and six months later Sophia comes back to town?”
She raised her hand.
“I am currently in town.”
“You know what I mean.”
“What if he fails again?”
That was the real question.
Sophia leaned back.
“Then you leave.”
I looked at her.
“That's it?”
“You survived leaving once.”
She smiled.
“You know where the door is now.”
That stayed with me.
Meanwhile, Eleanor Grant faced federal investigation.
The evidence had become impossible to contain.
Identity fraud.
Misuse of charitable funds.
Illegal political contributions.
Tax violations.
Alexander refused to use his connections to stop it.
Richard begged him.
“She's your mother.”
Alexander replied:
“And Erin was my wife.”
I heard about that later.
Eleanor eventually accepted a plea agreement.
No prison because of age, cooperation, and lack of prior record.
Heavy fines.
Probation.
Permanent removal from foundation management.
The public humiliation destroyed the thing she valued most.
Control.
She asked to see me.
I nearly refused.
Then curiosity won.
We met in Caroline's office.
Eleanor looked smaller without Grant authority surrounding her.
“Alexander won't speak to me.”
“That sounds like an Alexander problem.”
“You changed him.”
“No.”
She frowned.
“He changed because he didn't like himself.”
She studied me.
“You could go back.”
“I could.”
“Will you?”
“I don't know.”
She looked genuinely confused.
“You won.”
“This was never a competition.”
“Everything is.”
“No.”
That difference between us would never be resolved.
Then Eleanor said:
“I did choose you.”
I stared.
“You were kind. Modest. Your family wasn't socially threatening.”
“Thank you for the insult.”
“I thought you would be good for Alexander.”
“By being easy to control.”
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised me.
“Do you regret it?”
She looked away.
“I regret underestimating you.”
Not the same thing.
Still, it was probably the closest Eleanor Grant would ever come.
I stood.
“Goodbye, Eleanor.”
“Erin.”
I stopped.
“The red suits you.”
I smiled.
Then left.
Spring arrived.
One year after the anniversary was approaching.
That date had become something else now.
The night I left.
The night I purchased thirty-seven things.
Most were useful.
Some ridiculous.
The $8,400 red coat remained my favorite.
I decided to host the opening party for Erin Vale Interiors' completed Hudson Valley hotel on our anniversary date.
Not to erase the memory.
To reclaim it.
The hotel opened beautifully.
Warm wood.
Restored stone.
Local art.
Huge windows overlooking the mountains.
Two hundred people attended.
Developers.
Designers.
Press.
Employees.
Sophia came.
Natalie came with Caleb.
Caroline came and terrified several real estate attorneys recreationally.
Alexander did not come.
I had not invited him.
At nine, the party began winding down.
I walked into the main dining room.
Candles.
Steak served to guests.
Wine.
For one second, I remembered my cold anniversary dinner.
Then my project manager handed me a glass.
“To you.”
People applauded.
My people.
My work.
My name.
I cried.
After midnight, I returned to my hotel room.
A package waited outside.
No luxury wrapping.
Inside was a single object.
The restored cuff link.
I stared.
A note.
I found the matching one in my grandfather's things.
I think they belong together.
So do some things.
But only when they choose to.
No signature.
Didn't need one.
I laughed through tears.
Then I made a decision.
Not about marriage.
About dinner.
The next evening, I called Alexander.
He answered immediately.
“Erin?”
“Are you free tomorrow?”
Pause.
“Yes.”
“Dinner.”
Another pause.
“Is this a trap?”
“Probably.”
“Where?”
“My apartment.”
He exhaled slowly.
“What should I bring?”
“Nothing.”
“Wine?”
“No.”
“Flowers?”
“No.”
“What am I allowed to do?”
“Show up at seven.”
He arrived at 6:57.
That alone was character development.
I had prepared steak.
Potatoes.
Burgundy.
Almost identical to the anniversary dinner.
Alexander stopped when he saw the table.
His face changed.
“Erin.”
“Sit.”
He did.
For several minutes, neither touched the food.
Then I placed his black card on the table.
He stared.
“I forgot you still had that.”
“I kept it.”
“Why?”
“Evidence.”
He almost smiled.
I slid it toward him.
“I don't want it anymore.”
He picked it up.
Then broke it in half.
I blinked.
“That was dramatic.”
“I've wanted to do that for a year.”
I laughed.
Then became serious.
“The divorce papers are still unsigned.”
His expression did not change.
“Okay.”
“I don't know whether I want to sign.”
“Okay.”
“Stop saying okay.”
“What would you prefer?”
“I don't know.”
He nodded.
I glared.
He almost smiled.
Then I asked:
“If Sophia called tonight, what would you do?”
Alexander answered immediately.
“Ask whether it's an emergency.”
“And if it is?”
“Tell you.”
“And then?”
“Ask what you think we should do.”
We.
That mattered.
“What if your mother hates something I wear?”
“She can develop resilience.”
I laughed.
“What if I work until midnight?”
“I'll bring food.”
“What if I become more successful than you?”
His eyebrows rose.
“Let's not get unrealistic.”
I kicked him under the table.
He laughed.
Really laughed.
Then his face softened.
“I don't want you smaller, Erin.”
My eyes burned.
“I know that now.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He reached across the table.
Stopped halfway.
Asked:
“May I?”
I looked at his hand.
Then placed mine inside it.
“Yes.”
It wasn't forgiveness.
Not yet.
May you like
It was a beginning.
And this time, I intended to remain exactly my size.
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