Chapter 24 - What Forty-Five Thousand Dollars Bought Me
My parents asked whether I wanted to return the $45,000.
“No.”
My father smiled.
“Good.”
I laughed.
“That wasn’t the answer you expected?”
“That was exactly the answer I hoped for.”
The check had originally been intended as a wedding gift.
Instead, I used part of it to rent a new apartment.
Not enormous.
Not luxurious.
Mine.
I bought a cream-colored couch.
A ridiculously expensive coffee machine.
New sheets.
A dining table for six even though I lived alone.
I placed my passport in a small safe.
The marriage certificate went into a legal file marked CLOSED.
I used some of the money to cover legal costs Rebecca’s insurance-related work didn’t cover.
Another portion went into savings.
Then I did something that surprised everyone.
I donated $5,000 to a local organization that provided emergency accommodation for women leaving controlling relationships.
Rebecca looked at me when I told her.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I thought about the gas station where I changed my passwords.
The hotel room.
My suitcase.
My father arriving.
Rebecca answering immediately.
Caleb sending evidence.
I had resources.
I had people.
I had forty-five thousand dollars in a suitcase lining.
Not everyone leaving a bad situation had any of those things.
“I want someone else to have a door.”
Rebecca smiled.
“A door?”
“That’s what money gave me.”
“Not revenge.”
“Not luxury.”
“A door.”
Meanwhile, Julian’s world continued shrinking.
His business filed for bankruptcy protection.
The foreclosure proceeded.
He moved out of Victoria’s house after repeated arguments.
Caleb rented a room across town and found work with another development company.
Victoria blamed everyone.
The bank.
Me.
Caleb.
Her former friends.
The economy.
My parents.
The lawyers.
She never blamed herself.
Then, two months after the annulment, Detective Reyes called.
I sat at my new dining table while she spoke.
Charges had been referred to prosecutors relating to the forged financial documents.
She could not promise what would happen.
Investigations were slow.
Court cases slower.
But something had happened.
The evidence had not disappeared merely because my marriage had.
When the call ended, I walked to the window.
The city lights spread below me.
My phone buzzed.
An email.
From Julian.
I almost deleted it.
Instead, I opened it.
There was only one sentence.
I finally understand why you smiled that morning.
I stared at the screen.
Then typed a reply I never sent.
No, Julian. You still don’t.
Because that smile hadn’t meant I had a secret revenge plan.
It hadn’t meant I knew how badly his family’s finances were.
It hadn’t meant I knew about the folders, the forgery, or the recordings.
I smiled because somewhere between that filthy rag hitting my face and falling to the kitchen floor, I understood one simple thing.
May you like
I could leave.
And that was enough.
