I didn’t go downstairs.
It was the hardest thing I’d ever done. Harder than walking away from the pavilion. I sat in that conference room with my hands pressed flat on the table and watched my husband of nine years sitting alone on a bench, and every cell in my body wanted to go to him.
I didn’t.
Before he finally left, he handed Nina a letter.
It was six pages long. Handwritten. Full of promises.
He would go to counseling. He would remove Madison from any role in the company. He would apologize publicly, to my face and in front of the whole family. He would give me full access to every business account. He would sign a postnuptial agreement. He would never again let his family disrespect me in his presence.
I read every page.
On the last page, at the very bottom, he asked me to restore the company’s credit guarantee before the end of the week.
