CHAPTER FORTY
ISABELLA
Alexander does not come.
That is what I begin to notice after the board meeting.
On the first night, I interpret his absence as prudence. On the second, I assume the lawyers advised him to keep his distance while the investigation continues. By the third, I am irritated, although I have absolutely no right to be.
I asked for space, and he gave it to me.
The problem with getting exactly what you asked for is discovering what the absence does once it arrives.
Alexander does not send flowers, long messages, or requests to talk. He does not use Lily as an intermediary either. He calls her at the agreed times, asks about school, listens to stories about dinosaurs, and ends each conversation without trying to find out where I am or when I plan to come back.
On Tuesday, I receive a message.
May I collect Lily tomorrow at three? Your mother can bring her out if you would rather not see me.
I reply:
Yes. My mother will bring her.
Thank you.
Nothing personal.
Idiot.
No. Correct.
Still an idiot.
“You’re looking at your phone as though it personally offended your family,” Clara remarks.
We are in the kitchen of the country house she lent us. Lily is playing in the garden with my mother, far enough away not to hear.
“I’m not.”
“You are. Your forehead has developed a very specific crease.”
“Alexander didn’t say anything.”
Clara waits, drinking her wine.
“I asked him not to,” I add.
“Ah.”
“Do not make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one that says you think I’m ridiculous.”
“I don’t need to make any expression at all. You’re doing the entire demonstration for me.”
I throw a cushion at her, and Clara laughs.
“Bella, you wanted him to respect your space.”
“I know.”
“He respected it.”
“I know that too.”
“And now you’re annoyed.”
“I am not annoyed.”
“You’re in love.”
“Go to hell.”
“Thank you for confirming.”
My phone vibrates again. This time it is a message from my lawyer with two documents attached.
I begin reading the email, and my heart seems to slow.
Alexander has proposed an addendum removing every provision that could be used to require cohabitation, a minimum period of residence, or continuation of the marriage.
He has also formally committed to cooperating with any future divorce application without delay, financial retaliation, or any attempt to link the proceedings to Lily’s custody arrangements.
I open the document and find his signature on every page. There is no condition, compensation, or deadline by which I have to accept.
A letter is attached.
I should not read it in front of Clara, but I do.
You do not owe me your continued presence because I have finally begun learning things I should have understood years ago.
By the time I reach the final sentence—what I want will never again be reason enough to take a choice away from you—the tears begin.
Clara says nothing. She simply removes the wineglass from my hand before I drop it.
“Did he prepare the divorce papers?”
“Not exactly. He signed a formal commitment not to oppose them and removed everything he might have used to force me to keep living with him.”
“Did you ask him to do that now?”
“No.”
“Then why did he?”
I hand her the letter. Clara reads it slowly, and by the time she finishes, the humor has disappeared from her face.
“He’s letting you go.”
“I was already free.”
“Legally, perhaps. Emotionally, I think both of you were still treating the contract like a countdown toward some final decision.”
I close my eyes.
“I thought Alexander would fight.”
“He is fighting.”
I look at her.
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
“Maybe because you still think fighting means holding on to someone until they’re too exhausted to leave.”
The observation hurts.
“He stepped away from the company.”
“Temporarily.”
“He made the fraud public, took responsibility again, and now he has signed this.”
“Yes.”
“And he didn’t come after me.”
“No.”
Clara tilts her head.
“Which of those things would the Alexander from five years ago have done?”
None of them.
The answer is so obvious that it annoys me.
“People can perform change.”
“They can.”
“Guilt is a powerful motivation.”
“Absolutely.”
“So is fear of losing someone.”
“Then how long do you plan to demand an impossible standard of proof?”
I go still.
“What does that mean?”
Clara places the letter on the table.
“What would perfect evidence look like? How long would he have to keep doing the right thing without any guarantee of a reward before you believed the change was real?”
“He needs to keep changing even when he gets nothing from it.”
It is my own rule.
Clara does not need to answer. Her silence does it for her.
On Wednesday, Lily returns from her afternoon with Alexander carrying a small box. My body stiffens at the sight of it, remembering the sitting room once filled with toys.
“What’s that?”
She opens it and reveals a secondhand book about marine dinosaurs, the pages filled with notes from some child who owned it before her.
“Dad found it in an old bookshop. It has a huge Liopleurodon.”
I look toward the gate. Alexander remains outside with his hands in his pockets.
“She asked for a book about them,” he explains.
“It’s a small present.”
The beginning of a smile appears.
“I learned.”
Lily runs off to show it to her grandmother. Alexander does not come inside, but he does not leave immediately either.
“How are you?” he asks.
It is the first personal question he has asked in several days.
My throat tightens.
“Fine.”
He does not challenge the lie.
“I’m glad.”
“And you?”
“I’m fine.”
The exhaustion in his eyes contradicts the answer.
“I watched the meeting,” I say.
His jaw tightens.
“The recording should never have leaked.”
“Everything seems to leak in this family.”
“I’m beginning to notice.”
Silence settles between the gate and the front door.
“You stepped away from the chief executive role,” I continue.
“Temporarily.”
“You may not get it back.”
“That is possible.”
“And you’re all right with that?”
Alexander looks toward the street.
“No. I love the company, I know every part of it, and I hate not being in control. Even so, I’ll survive if the board decides someone else should remain.”
“Richard took—”
“Do not do to me what I did to you.”
I go still.
“What?”
“Do not let Richard’s guilt turn every consequence of my choices into something he caused.”
My chest tightens.
“You chose to make your responsibility public because you believed it was right.”
“Yes.”
“And that choice may cost you your position.”
“Yes.”
“So it is a consequence.”
“Exactly.”
I release a frustrated breath.
“You’ve become impossible.”
“In a bad way?”
“I no longer know.”
A small smile appears and vanishes.
“I didn’t come here to ask anything from you, Isabella. I wanted to bring Lily back and make certain you were both still safe.”
“We are.”
He nods and begins to walk away.
“Alexander.”
He stops immediately.
There are so many things I could say: Come inside. Stay. I read your letter. I missed you.
None of them reaches my mouth.
Alexander waits without offering me an easier escape.
“Thank you for the book.”
His smile is small and sad.
“Good night.”
I stay at the door until his car disappears.
The letter remains folded inside my bag. For the first time in five years, Alexander has genuinely placed the possibility of leaving in front of me without resistance.
And I discover something terrifying.
I no longer know whether I want to use it.