Chapter 6 - The Shadows of the Past
The heavy wooden doors of the federal courthouse swung shut behind me, the sharp click of the latch sounding like a final, absolute period at the end of a long, agonizing sentence. Daniel was gone, transferred two days earlier to the federal correctional facility in Florence. Mia had disappeared into the anonymity of a distant suburb, her name tarnished by scandal and her assets completely frozen by the federal magistrate.
Yet, even with the legal war won, the psychological ghosts of the past occasionally lingered in the quiet hours of the night.
I sat in my home office on the fiftieth floor of the Bennett Holding Group tower, the glow of my dual monitors illuminating the quiet room. Outside, the Denver skyline twinkled like a constellation of fallen stars. Noah was fast asleep in his nursery down the hall, his breathing deep and steady—a sound that, to me, was the ultimate symphony of victory.
My private phone chimed, breaking the silence. It wasn't an encrypted legal update from Marcus or a corporate notification from my executive team.
It was an unknown local number.
I let it ring out to voicemail. A minute later, a text message popped up on the screen:
“Elena, please. Just ten minutes. I know I destroyed everything, but I have no one left. They won't even let me make personal calls past eight o’clock. Please... just tell me my son is okay.”
I stared at the screen, a cold, detached pity washing over me. It was Daniel, calling from a monitored payphone inside the prison block.
For three years, he had treated my emotional presence like a convenience and our son like an afterthought. When Noah had burned with a 103.8-degree fever, Daniel had walked past us to carry another woman's child. He hadn't asked about Noah's health once during the entire court proceedings unless forced to by his defense counsel.
May you like
I tapped the screen, blocked the number permanently, and set the phone face down on the mahogany desk.
There was nothing left to say to a man who had traded his soul for an illusion of control. I didn't hate him anymore; hatred required an emotional investment I was no longer willing to waste on him. He had simply become a closed chapter in a book I had already finished reading.
