The townhouse was sold rather than becoming another battlefield.
I received primary residential custody of Fiona, with a structured parenting schedule for David and clear rules about travel, communication, and major decisions.
There were consequences for what he had done.
But he still remained Fiona’s father.
That was harder than revenge.
It was also more honest.
The day we signed the final documents, David caught me in the hallway outside the conference room.
Our attorneys were several yards away.
“Blaire.”
I stopped.
He looked at me for a long moment.
“Are you happy now?”
There had been a time when I would have needed him to understand.
I would have explained.
Defended.
Listed every thing he had done until he finally admitted that I was right.
I no longer needed that.
“I’m getting there,” I said.
Then I walked away.
Luca was waiting downstairs.
He had not attended the settlement meeting.
That had been my choice.
When I got into the car, he looked at me.
“Done?”
“Done.”
“How do you feel?”
I thought about it.
“Hungry.”
He smiled.
“That I can fix.”
We went to a diner.
Not a private club.
Not a restaurant with a month-long reservation list.
A diner near the lake where Fiona ordered chocolate chip pancakes at four in the afternoon.
Luca stole one of my fries.
I slapped his hand.
Fiona laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork.
It was one of the best meals I had eaten in years.
