Chapter Forty - Daniel
CHAPTER FORTY
Daniel
DANIEL SAT ACROSS from his divorce attorney. She had represented half of his agency’s executive team at one point or another. She was surgical. Ruthless.
He knew she wouldn’t let him lie to himself.
She flipped through the folder between them, her silver pen tapping lightly against the edge. “Okay. Let’s talk about division of assets.”
Daniel didn’t flinch. “Give her everything she asked for.”
Marla made a note and didn’t look up. “And if she asks for more?”
“Then give her that too.”
Now she looked at him.
Her expression was unreadable. Not surprised, not impressed—just wary, like she was watching a man deliberately walk into traffic.
“I want to make sure we’re being clear,” she said, voice even. “You’re not contesting anything? Not the retirement accounts, not the investment portfolio, not the intellectual property shares from your former agency?”
“As long as I have enough to live on, I don’t need the rest.”
Marla blinked slowly. “You’re walking away from a lot of money.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened. “I know.”
A pause. “Why?”
He met her eyes. “Because I never deserved her.”
She stared at him for a beat longer than was strictly professional. Then, slowly, she sat back, folding her hands in front of her.
“You’re transferring the deed on the house.”
Daniel nodded once. “It’s already in motion.”
Marla’s tone sharpened, a little too close to personal.
“Daniel,” she said. “Are you trying to punish yourself?”
He gave a bitter smile. “I think we’re a little past that.”
Marla exhaled, carefully closing the folder. “This kind of settlement—uncontested, full transfer, immediate payout—it’ll look like guilt.”
“It is guilt.”
She raised an eyebrow, just barely.
There was a pause.
“I want her to have peace. Freedom. Stability. I want her to wake up and feel like the future is hers to shape, not something she has to survive.”
His voice thickened.
“If I can make that easier for her—by giving her the house, the money, the clean break—then why wouldn’t I?”
Marla leaned back slowly, watching him like he might fall apart right there in the chair.
“You think this is justice,” she said, not unkindly.
He shook his head. “No. Justice would be if I could take it all back.” His chest tightened. “This is the closest I’ll ever get.”
Marla closed the folder gently. “One might think you’re trying to buy forgiveness.”
“I’m not,” Daniel said. “She’ll never forgive me. I know that.”
He looked down at his hands. His nails still had dirt beneath them from the morning’s volunteer shift.
“But I still get to love her,” he said quietly. “Even if it’s from far away. Even if she never sees me again.”
He paused.
“She deserves to be happy. If I can give her even one piece of that… it would be the only thing I’ve done right.”
Marla was quiet.
“I’m not trying to win her back,” Daniel said. “I’m not trying to make a statement. I’m just…” He trailed off, raking a hand through his hair. “Trying to do one thing right. One thing that doesn’t hurt her.”
He didn’t expect understanding. Didn’t want it.
“I don’t need to be protected in this,” he added. “That’s not why I hired you. I hired you to make this clean. Efficient. Final.”
She tapped her pen once, slowly. “I’ve had a lot of clients who regretted how their marriages ended. Regret alone doesn’t usually look like this.”
Daniel’s laugh was soft, hollow.
Let her have it all.
Let her start over.
Let him be nothing but a footnote.
Daniel stood slowly, buttoning his jacket like the weight of it might keep him from unraveling.
“Let me know when the papers are ready.”
And then he left.
Not with closure. Not with relief.
But with a strange, hollow sense of fulfillment.
He couldn’t be her future.
But he could help build it.
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Daniel knelt in the dirt, patiently listening as an elderly woman showed him how to properly space seedlings. His knees were soaked from the morning dew, his back aching from hours of work. He'd arrived before anyone else, setting up tables, unloading supplies without being asked.
From the corner of his eye, he caught Carmen watching him.
Only when the cleanup was mostly done—when Daniel was alone by the shed, stacking folding chairs into place—did she finally walk over, wiping her hands on the thighs of her jeans.
“You’re thorough,” she said, nodding at the neatly arranged supplies.
Daniel didn’t look at her. “Figured I’d finish the job.”
Carmen studied him for a moment. “Hannah’s not here today.”
“I’m not here for her,” Daniel said, too quickly. Then softer, “I mean… I am. But not to see her.”
Carmen didn’t reply. Just leaned against the side of the shed, arms crossed.
Daniel kept working. Dust clung to his forearms. His sweatshirt was damp with sweat.
“Does she know you’re still showing up?” Carmen asked.
“I don’t think so.” He adjusted a latch on one of the storage bins. “Doesn’t matter.”
Carmen tilted her head. “You’re doing this out of guilt?”
He hesitated. “Not just guilt.”
She waited.
Daniel finally looked at her. “Because it matters to her. Because I used to dismiss all of it. And I was wrong.”
Carmen nodded once, as if this wasn’t news to her.
“Most people only figure that out when it’s too late.”
“It is too late,” Daniel said quietly.
Carmen’s expression didn’t shift. She wasn’t cruel. But she wasn’t offering comfort either.
A long pause.
Then she said, casually, “You look a mess.”
Daniel huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Yeah. Well.”
“You always did have that too-clean, too-smug thing going,” she added, like she was making an observation about the weather. “This suits you more. Dirt under your nails. Less arrogant.”
He swallowed.
“You know?” he asked. “About… what happened?”
Carmen looked at him. “Yes.”
Daniel nodded slowly, eyes stinging. “I cheated on her.”
“I know.”
“With the yoga instructor,” he added, because he didn’t deserve her to think any better of him. “Our yoga instructor. Hannah’s.”
Carmen raised a brow. “That’s particularly gross.”
“Yeah,” Daniel whispered.
A silence fell. Heavy. Honest.
“I ruined everything,” he said. “For something that didn’t mean anything. Something I don’t even remember wanting.”
Carmen exhaled. “So why?”
He looked down at his hands. “I felt old and useless and… afraid I’d already peaked.”
Carmen made a small sound of contempt.
“You’re not the first man who’s been scared of aging,” she said. “But most of them don’t take their fear out on someone who loved them.”
Daniel winced again. “I know.”
She watched him. For a long time, she said nothing.
“I’m not trying to get her back,” he said quietly. “I know I don’t deserve that.”
“Good,” Carmen said. “You don’t.”
He nodded once.
“But,” she added, her tone giving nothing away, “showing up anyway? Even when no one’s watching? That’s something.”
Daniel looked at her.
“It’s not enough,” she told him. “But it’s a start.”
And then she walked off, leaving him alone with the folding chairs and the weight of everything he still needed to become.