“If she loses her temper tonight, at least everyone will see what I’ve been dealing with.”
Amelia documented his account.
And suddenly the dinner looked even less spontaneous.
—
Three days after I left, a legal notice was delivered to Grant’s office.
The financial disclosure requests were precise.
The questions concerning my purported guarantee were documented.
The relevant business records had been preserved.
And the family-law proceedings were underway.
Grant called me that evening.
I didn’t answer.
He left a voicemail.
His voice was colder than I’d heard in years.
“You think you’ve embarrassed me?”
A pause.
“You haven’t seen what happens when somebody comes after my company.”
I forwarded the message to Amelia.
Then sat beside Owen while he worked on his volcano.
He looked up.
“Mom, is Dad angry?”
My heart tightened.
I brushed his hair away from his forehead.
“Your dad is having difficult feelings.”
Owen frowned.
“Because we left?”
I swallowed.
“Because the adults are dealing with some problems.”
He looked down.
Then whispered:
“Did I do something wrong?”
I immediately pulled him close.
“No, sweetheart.”
My voice broke.
“None of this is because of you.”
He held on.
And for a moment, I realized something.
Grant’s greatest mistake wasn’t underestimating the records I’d collected.
It was underestimating how much a mother would fight to make sure her children never believed they were responsible for their parents’ choices.
