Chapter 10 - The Letter from a Dead Man
Richard Grant had died eighteen months into our marriage. He was quieter than Victoria, softer around the edges, and one of the few members of Alexander’s family who ever asked me questions and waited for the answers.
His letter had remained encrypted in the family archive.
Rebecca handed me the printed copy.
Erin,
If you are reading this, then something has gone wrong.
Not exactly comforting.
Richard explained that the insurance policy was originally designed as protection for me, not profit from me. The trust was supposed to pay twenty-five million directly into an independent fund for my benefit if anything happened to Alexander or if Grant family liabilities endangered me.
Victoria had altered the ownership after his death.
She had turned protection into leverage.
But Richard’s letter contained something more important.
Alexander has spent his life believing responsibility means control. I am partly to blame. His mother is more so. He will mistake providing for you as loving you unless someone forces him to understand the difference. Do not sacrifice yourself to teach him.
I stopped reading.
Alexander sat across the room.
He had not seen the letter.
“Read it.”
He shook his head.
“It’s addressed to you.”
“It’s about you.”
“Still yours.”
So I read the rest alone.
Richard wrote that Victoria had manipulated Alexander’s relationships since adolescence. He suspected she had interfered with Sophia. He had attempted to restructure the trust to protect Alexander from her influence but died before completing it.
Then came the final paragraph.
If Alexander ever makes you feel purchased rather than loved, leave. If he is the man I hope he can become, losing you may finally teach him what keeping you never did.
I cried.
Not because Richard had predicted our marriage.
Because someone inside that family had seen me.
Alexander waited.
When I finally handed him the letter, he read silently.
His shoulders began shaking.
I had never watched a grown man realize that his dead father understood his greatest failure before he did.
He folded the letter carefully.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“I thought he was disappointed in me.”
“Maybe he was worried about you.”
Alexander looked out the window.
“I spent my entire life trying to prove I could carry everything.”
“And?”
“I dropped everything that wasn’t making noise.”
That sentence nearly broke me.
Because I had become quiet to survive our marriage.
And therefore invisible.
A month later, Victoria was indicted on fraud-related charges connected to the trust documents. Thomas Bell agreed to testify. The case became public.
Reporters camped outside my house.
North & Rowan lost one client.
Then gained four.
Apparently scandal was excellent advertising when the public decided you were the wronged wife.
I hated that.
Maya loved the invoices.
“Trauma is terrible,” she said. “Cash flow is encouraging.”
By September, my legal separation could become a divorce.
Rebecca placed the final agreement before me.
“You can sign today.”
I stared at the line.
For months, I had imagined this moment as freedom.
Now my hand would not move.
Rebecca noticed.
“Second thoughts?”
“No.”
It was a lie.
She leaned back.
“You don’t owe Alexander reconciliation because he improved.”
“I know.”
“You also don’t owe anyone divorce because they expect it.”
I looked at her.
“What do I owe?”
“Yourself an honest decision.”
I took the papers home unsigned.
That evening, someone knocked.
Alexander.
He held no flowers.
No gifts.
No legal documents.
“Paige said you might be here.”
“Paige talks too much.”
“She threatened to kill me twice. I think we’re making progress.”
I smiled.
He looked at the divorce papers on my desk.
“Are you signing?”
“I don’t know.”
Pain crossed his face, followed immediately by restraint.
“Whatever you decide, I’ll respect it.”
I studied him.
The old Alexander would have negotiated.
This one stood still.
“Do you want me back?”
“Yes.”
The answer was immediate.
“But?”
“But wanting you isn’t a reason you should come back.”
I swallowed.
“Do you still love me?”
“Yes.”
“What if I never forgive you?”
“Then I’ll still be grateful I knew you.”
That was when I began crying.
Alexander did not touch me.
He waited.
So I crossed the room and hugged him.
For the first time in months.
His arms came around me carefully.
Not possessively.
Not confidently.
Like he understood I could leave them whenever I wanted.
I whispered against his shoulder.
“This doesn’t mean I’m coming back.”
May you like
“I know.”
And I believed him.
