Chapter 6 - The Aftermath
The divorce was finalized six months later. Mark was bankrupt, his reputation in the social circles he prized so highly in tatters. Caroline was fighting a multi-front legal battle for the foundation’s fraud, and she was currently liquidating her assets just to keep her lawyers paid.
I kept the house. The mansion was sold, the money tucked into a trust for Ethan’s future—a future that would be quiet, safe, and entirely free of champagne-sipping sociopaths.
One afternoon, I sat on the back porch of my new, quiet house. Ethan was playing in the sandbox, his trucks lined up in the same way they had been in our old kitchen.
A car pulled up the driveway. It wasn't a fancy SUV or a corporate town car. It was an old, beat-up sedan.
Mark stepped out. He looked thinner, his face drawn. He looked like a man who had finally realized that the world didn't revolve around him.
"I’m moving," he said. He didn't come up the steps. He stayed by his car, looking at the ground. "I got a job in Ohio. A regular job. Sales."
I didn't move. I kept my hand on the handle of the back door, just in case.
"Why are you telling me?" I asked.
"I just wanted to say," he started, his voice cracking, "I’m sorry. For everything. I didn't see it. I didn't see what I was doing to you, or to him."
"Seeing it isn't enough, Mark," I said. "You have to live with the consequences of not seeing it. That’s your burden now. Not mine."
May you like
He nodded slowly. He looked at Ethan one last time, a look of profound, agonizing regret. Then he turned, got back into his car, and drove away.
I didn't watch him go. I walked over to the sandbox and sat down next to my son.
