“I can imagine.”
“He stood in our living room and tried to blame you for his affair. Said you’d grown distant. Said the marriage had problems. Said you weren’t giving him what he needed.”
My father paused.
“I told him to get out of our house.”
“Dad, no—”
“Isla, I’ve known that boy for eleven years. I welcomed him into our family. I trusted him with my daughter, and he sat in my living room and tried to make you responsible for his choices.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“Your mother and I support you one hundred percent. Whatever you need, money, somewhere to stay, anything. You tell us.”
My mother got on the phone.
“When this is over, sweetheart, we’re taking you on a trip. Somewhere beautiful. Somewhere Milo has never been. Somewhere you can start fresh.”
After they hung up, I sat in my apartment and cried. Not from sadness, but from gratitude. From the relief of being believed, being supported, not having to defend or explain or justify. Three weeks after I’d first met with Victoria, she filed the divorce petition. The terms were brutal but fair. I kept the apartment. Seventy percent of all marital assets. Full reimbursement for the forty-seven thousand dollars Milo had spent on Hazel over eighteen months. Every dinner, every hotel, every couples massage, all documented. A statement acknowledging his adultery and financial misconduct. And Milo would pay all legal fees, both his lawyer’s and mine. When his lawyer delivered the terms, Milo called me within the hour.
“Seventy percent?” His voice was highly strained. “That’s insane. No judge would ever award you that much.”
I’d been expecting this call. Had rehearsed my response.
“Actually, Victoria thinks a judge would award me more. Once they hear about the financial fraud, the secret apartment, the abandonment during a medical emergency, seventy percent is generous.”
“This is vindictive. You’re trying to punish me.”
“I’m trying to be compensated for what you took from our marriage. If you’d rather go to trial and have all of this become public record, including testimony from Hazel’s husband about how your affair destroyed his family and hurt his two young daughters, we can do that. Your choice.”
Silence. Long and heavy.
“Hazel’s husband knows.”
His voice was barely a whisper.
“Marcus knows everything. We’ve compared notes. He’s willing to testify about the impact on his children if this goes to trial.”
More silence.
“You contacted him. You told him.”
“I gave him the same truth I got. The same evidence. He deserved to know what his wife was doing.”
“You destroyed everything,”
Milo said, his voice hollow.
“You systematically destroyed both our lives.”
“I documented what you destroyed,”
I corrected.
“There’s a difference. You made the choices. You had the affair. You stole the money. You signed the lease. I just made sure everyone knew the truth.”
He hung up without responding. Six weeks later, we reached a settlement. Milo’s lawyer had advised him that going to trial would likely result in worse terms, that a judge who heard about the miscarriage abandonment and saw all the documented financial fraud would not be sympathetic. Milo agreed to everything. Seventy-thirty split. Full reimbursement. Acknowledgment of fault. Payment of all legal fees.
The signing happened in Victoria’s conference room on a gray January morning. Milo arrived looking like he’d aged a decade, hollow-eyed, thinner, defeated. We sat across from each other while lawyers shuffled papers. Neither of us spoke. The only sounds were pages turning and pens scratching. When it was time to sign, Milo hesitated, his pen hovering over the paper.
“I really did love you, Isla.”
His voice was quiet.
“I know you don’t believe that, but I did. I just… I got lost. I made terrible choices. I’m sorry.”
I looked at him. This man I’d built eleven years with. This stranger who destroyed everything we’d created.
“Sorry doesn’t undo anything,”
I said.
