“Let go of me.”
He didn’t.
“Let go of my arm, Matthew.
Now.”
His uncle stood up.
“Matthew.
Let her go.”
Matthew’s hand opened.
I pulled my arm back.
There were red marks where his fingers had been.
I picked up the phone, the records, and the prenup.
I put them back in my bag.
“I’m leaving,” I said.
“My lawyer will contact you.
Don’t call me.
Don’t come to the house.
Don’t send your mother.”
I walked toward the door.
Behind me, I heard Matthew’s voice break for the first time in my life.
“Please.
Please don’t do this.”
I stopped in the doorway.
I turned halfway.
“You planned this since we were teenagers,” I said.
“You said I walked right into your trap.
You were right.
I did.
But I walked out.”
—
Grace was waiting in her car at the curb.
I got in.
My hands were finally shaking.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“No.”
“Do you want to go home?”
“Not that house.
Not tonight.”
She drove me to a hotel.
I checked in under my own name.
I sat on the edge of the bed and called Diane.
“It’s done,” I said.
“I showed them everything.”
Diane was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, “I’m proud of you.”
“Are you alright?”
“I’ve been waiting six years to hear someone say those words to him.
I’m better than I’ve been in a long time.”
—
The next three weeks moved fast.
Grace filed for an annulment based on fraud.
She also filed a civil suit to recover Catherine’s assets.
The burner phone messages were entered as evidence.
The court records from Catherine’s case were compared to mine.
Same lawyer.
Same clause.
Same pattern.
Matthew’s lawyer tried to argue that the messages were taken out of context.
The judge wasn’t persuaded.
Margaret tried to call me once.
I let it ring.
She left no message.
