Chapter 31 #2
"Not indefinitely," she said, stirring her tea. "Just until David stops acting like I'm destroying our family by wanting some space to think clearly."
"How is he acting exactly?"
Robin was quiet for a long moment, looking out her kitchen window at the garden.
"Like I'm having a breakdown instead of just recognizing that our marriage has become something I don't want to be part of anymore," she said finally. "He keeps asking what's wrong with me, why I can't be grateful for everything we've built together, why I need to create problems where none exist."
I recognized the language immediately. The same dismissive responses Brett had used when I'd tried to discuss our emotional distance, the same assumption that wanting more than just surviving your own life meant you were being unreasonable.
"That sounds like something I've heard before," I said, thinking about months of trying to explain to Brett that I felt invisible in our marriage while he treated my concerns like evidence of psychological instability.
"He's not wrong about the timing being bad," Robin continued.
"The real estate market is complicated, our investments are performing well, and disrupting everything right now would be expensive for both of us."
"Is that what's really stopping you?" I asked gently.
Robin looked at me directly since I'd arrived. "I'm scared," she said simply. "I'm scared that if I leave David, I'll discover I'm not brave enough to build a life that belongs entirely to me. I'm scared that wanting something different isn't the same as being capable of creating it."
I understood her fear completely. The gap between recognizing that your current situation wasn't working and finding the courage to risk everything for the possibility of something better felt enormous when you were standing in the middle of it.
"Fear is reasonable," I said, thinking about my own terror when I'd first hired Lindsay Garland and started the legal process that would end twenty-three years of marriage. "But staying in something that's slowly killing your spirit because leaving feels scary isn't safer than taking the risk."
"What if I leave David and discover that I was the problem all along? What if I'm just someone who can't be satisfied with anything, who always wants more than whatever she's been given?"
"Then you'll be someone who chose authenticity over convenience," I said firmly. "Someone who refused to accept emotional starvation just because the alternative required courage you weren't sure you possessed."
We talked for another hour about marriage and settling and the difference between being grateful for what you had versus accepting what you had because changing it felt too risky.
Robin was struggling with the same questions I'd wrestled with for weeks before finally admitting that Brett had already ended our marriage regardless of whether I filed legal papers to make it official.
"How's your divorce progressing?" Robin asked as our conversation moved toward safer territory that didn't require her to make decisions about her own marriage.
"Lindsay thinks we'll finalize everything by the end of March," I said, feeling relief that had nothing to do with vindication and everything to do with being able to close a chapter that had lasted longer than it should have.
"Brett's attorney finally stopped fighting the settlement terms because Hannah's forensic accounting made it impossible to claim poverty. "
"He's really going to pay permanent alimony?"
"Permanent alimony, sixty percent of marital assets, and my legal fees," I said, still amazed by how thoroughly Brett's financial deception had backfired. "Connecticut courts don't appreciate asset concealment during divorce proceedings."
"Good," Robin said fiercely. "He earned every consequence he's getting."
I thought about consequences and justice and whether Brett was learning anything from the professional and personal destruction his choices had created.
Probably not. Men who conducted eighteen-month affairs while hiding millions of dollars weren't usually capable of the self-reflection that led to change.
But his inability to grow from his mistakes wasn't my problem anymore.
I heard Devin's car in the driveway at six-thirty.
Someone arriving home with news that couldn't wait for proper greetings.
He burst through the front door with energy I hadn't seen from him in months, vibrating with excitement that made me smile despite whatever stress I'd been carrying from the day.
"Mom!" he called, dropping his backpack in the hallway like he'd been doing since middle school. "Where are you? I have incredible news!"
"Kitchen," I called back, abandoning the dinner I'd been preparing to give him my complete attention. Whatever had happened at school today clearly deserved immediate celebration.
Devin appeared in the doorway with the biggest grin I'd seen from him since his home run against Ridgefield, his face flushed with excitement that made him look like the little boy who used to run home from Little League practice to tell me about every play he'd made.
"I got in," he said, his tone cracking slightly with emotion. "UConn. Full baseball scholarship. Coach Phelps called me into his office after practice and showed me the letter. Mom, I'm going to play Division One baseball."
I wrapped him in a hug that lifted him off the ground despite the fact that he was now five inches taller than me, both of us laughing and crying simultaneously.
This beautiful, hardworking kid had earned everything he'd dreamed about through years of practice and dedication, and believing in himself when believing felt harder than doubting.
"I'm so proud of you," I said, pulling back to look at his face and see the joy that came from achieving something you'd worked toward for years. "You deserve this completely. You've earned every bit of this opportunity."
"I can't believe it's real," Devin said, pulling the acceptance letter from his backpack like evidence he needed me to verify. "Look at this. My name, on UConn letterhead, offering me a full ride to play baseball and get my education."
I read the letter twice, savoring every detail that confirmed my son's future was exactly what he'd envisioned when he'd been hitting balls in our backyard at age eight. Full tuition, room and board, academic support, and the chance to compete at the highest level of college athletics.
"We have to call Kim," I said, reaching for my phone to share this news with his sister, who'd been following his recruitment process almost as closely as I had.
"Wait," Devin said, his tone shifting to something more serious that made me pause with my phone halfway to my ear. "There's something else I need to tell you first."
The change in his expression made my stomach tense with anticipation of whatever complicated this moment. "What is it?"
"I had lunch with Dad yesterday," Devin said, studying my face for reactions I tried to keep neutral. "He wanted to hear about the UConn situation, and I thought you should know he said something."
Brett. Of course. Even this moment, this achievement that belonged entirely to our son's hard work and talent, somehow included Brett inserting himself into conversations where he didn't belong.
"What did he say?" I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer.
Devin sat down across from me at the kitchen island, his excitement about UConn replaced by something that looked like consideration of how to deliver information he knew I wouldn't want to hear.
"He said to tell you hi," Devin began, watching my face. "And that he hopes you're doing well with the apartment and everything."
"That's nice," I said neutrally, wondering where this conversation was heading.
"Mom, he also said he misses our family," he continued, his tone getting more passionate as he built toward whatever point he'd been preparing to make. "He said he knows he made mistakes, but that he'd like to try again. To see if maybe we could work things out."
The kitchen seemed to shrink around me. Brett was using our son to deliver messages about reconciliation while I was building a new life that finally belonged entirely to me.
After everything he'd done, all the betrayal and financial deception and psychological warfare, he thought he could manipulate his way back into our family through guilt and nostalgia delivered by a seventeen-year-old boy.
"Devin," I started, but he held up his hand to stop me.
"Just listen for a minute, please," he said, leaning forward with intensity that reminded me of myself when I was arguing for something I believed in.
"I know what Dad did was terrible. I know he hurt you and lied to all of us and destroyed our family for someone else.
But people can change, right? People can recognize their mistakes and do better? "
I looked at my son's face, seeing hope that I didn't have the heart to crush with reality about his father's character. Devin wanted to believe in redemption because the alternative meant accepting that his father was someone who was capable of destroying his family without remorse.
"Some people can change," I said. "But only if they take real responsibility for their actions instead of just saying they're sorry when the consequences become too uncomfortable to live with."
"He seemed different when we had lunch," Devin said, his tone building with conviction I wished I could share.
"More aware of what he'd lost, more understanding of why you filed for divorce.
He said he'd been going to therapy, working on himself, trying to figure out how he became someone capable of hurting the people he loved most."
Therapy. Right. Brett was probably learning therapeutic language to make his manipulation sound like personal growth instead of strategic behavior designed to regain control of the narrative.