Chapter 7
The first year after the trial was hard.
Harder than I thought it would be.
The media attention faded.
The headlines stopped.
But the scars didn't.
Sophia started having nightmares.
She'd wake up screaming.
"Daddy's here. He's going to hurt you."
We got her a therapist.
A good one.
She got better.
Slowly.
Ethan had nightmares, too.
Lila and I started a routine.
Every Sunday, we had dinner together.
The kids played.
We talked.
We healed.
I went back to work.
The Sterling Foundation.
We funded programs for single mothers.
For kids whose parents were in prison.
For women who had been lied to, used, thrown away.
It felt good.
It felt like I was turning my pain into something real.
Something that mattered.
Victor got married.
To a nice girl from Chicago.
A teacher.
She made him laugh.
Something I hadn't seen him do in years.
Marcus ran for re-election.
He won by a landslide.
His platform included harsher penalties for financial fraud and domestic abuse.
Julian expanded the bank.
He started a new division focused on helping small, women-owned businesses get loans.
No more Dominic Hales getting rich off other people's money.
Lila went back to school.
She got her nursing degree.
She started working in the pediatric ward at the local hospital.
She was good at it.
The kids loved her.
Everything was moving forward.
Until the day the letter came.
It was postmarked from the maximum-security prison upstate.
Dominic's handwriting.
I stared at the envelope for ten minutes before I opened it.
Inside was three pages.
Loopy, desperate handwriting.
He said he was sorry.
He said he'd found God in prison.
He said he'd changed.
He asked for forgiveness.
He asked to see Sophia.
Just once.
To tell her he loved her.
To explain.
I threw the letter in the fireplace.
I watched it burn.
But a week later, another letter came.
Then another.
Then another.
I threw them all away.
I didn't read them.
I didn't tell Sophia.
She was seven now.
She was happy.
She had Ethan.
She had her uncles.
She had her grandma.
She didn't need to know her father was still trying to weasel his way back into her life.
Then the letters stopped.
For three months.
I thought he'd given up.
I thought he'd finally accepted his fate.
I was wrong.
One afternoon, I picked Sophia up from school.
A man was standing by the gate.
He wasn't a parent.
He wasn't a teacher.
He was too big.
Too tense.
He kept looking at his phone.
When he saw me, he looked away.
Fast.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I texted Victor.
I told him where I was.
What the man looked like.
Five minutes later, Victor pulled up.
Two of his men were with him.
They approached the man.
They talked quietly.
The man paled.
He nodded.
He left.
Victor walked over to me.
His face was hard.
"Who was he?" I asked.
"Parole officer," Victor said.
"Dominic's. He was released last week. On a technicality. The appeals court threw out the solicitation charge. Said the emails were 'circumstantial.' He served five years for the fraud and bigamy. Good behavior. He's out."
My blood ran cold.
Five years.
Only five.
He was supposed to get twenty-five.
"He's here?" I whispered.
"In town?"
Victor nodded.
"He's staying at a motel on the edge of town. He's been asking about you. About Sophia. My people are watching him 24/7. He won't get within a mile of either of you. I promise."
But promises weren't enough.
Not this time.
That night, I sat Sophia down.
I told her.
As gently as I could.
"Daddy is out of jail," I said.
"But he's not going to come see you. Not unless you want him to. And even then, there will be lots of people around to make sure everyone is safe. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."
Sophia was quiet.
She thought for a long time.
Then she said, "I don't want to see him. Not ever. He hurt you. He hurt Aunt Lila. He lied to all of us. I don't want him in my life."
I hugged her.
"Okay," I said.
"That's your choice. And it will always be your choice. No one can make you do anything you don't want to."
The next day, Dominic showed up at the foundation.
He stood in the lobby.
He looked different.
Thinner.
Older.
His hair was gray at the temples.
He wore a cheap suit.
He saw me walk in.
His face lit up.
"Vivienne," he said.
He walked toward me.
Two of Victor's men stepped between us.
Dominic stopped.
He held up his hands.
"I'm not here to cause trouble. I just want to talk. Please. Five minutes."
I looked at him.
I felt nothing.
No love.
No hate.
Just a tired, empty indifference.
"You have two minutes," I said.
He took a breath.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"For everything. For the lies. For the cheating. For the money. For the insurance policies. I was sick. I was greedy. I was stupid. I lost everything that mattered. I've spent five years in a cell thinking about it. About you. About Sophia. About what I threw away."
He reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.
The necklace.
Sophia's necklace.
The one I'd dropped on his chest at the gala.
He'd kept it.
All these years.
"I want to make it right," he said.
"I want to be a father to Sophia. I want to be part of her life. I'll do whatever it takes. Supervised visits. Therapy. Whatever you want. Just... give me a chance."
I looked at the necklace.
At the faded glitter.
The missing stickers.
A memory of a little girl, sitting at the kitchen table, beaming with pride as she glued each heart in place.
Then I looked at Dominic.
At the man who had destroyed that little girl's idea of what a father should be.
Who had almost gotten me killed.
Who had destroyed Lila's life, too.
"No," I said.
Dominic's face fell.
"Vivienne, please—"
"You had your chance," I said.
"You had seven years of chances. You threw every single one of them away. Sophia doesn't want to see you. She's made that very clear. And I will never, ever force her to be around someone who hurt her the way you did."
I stepped closer.
My voice dropped.
"If you come near her school. If you come near our house. If you so much as look at her from across a street... my brothers will make sure you go back to prison for the rest of your life. And this time, there will be no technicalities. No appeals. No early release. Do you understand me?"
Dominic paled.
He nodded slowly.
"I understand," he said.
He turned to leave.
Then he stopped.
He held out the necklace.
"Can you give this to her? Tell her I kept it. Tell her I love her."
I looked at the necklace.
I didn't take it.
"She made a new one," I said.
"She doesn't need that one anymore."
May you like
I turned and walked away.
I didn't look back.
