Chapter 5
I woke up at 9 a.m. the next day, my eyes swollen, my throat raw.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
No smell of Brianna’s coffee.
No sound of her singing in the shower.
Just silence.
My lawyer showed up at 10 sharp, going over the papers, making sure everything was signed correctly.
“Once we file these, the divorce will be final in 90 days,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. “She has no claim to anything. You’re fully protected.”
I nodded.
“Thanks, Mark.”
When he left, I walked through the house, room by room.
Her side of the closet was empty.
Her makeup was gone from the bathroom.
All her little things, the ones that had made this house ours, were gone.
It felt like a tomb.
I sat down on the bed, staring at the empty space where her pillow used to be.
My phone rang.
Clara Vance.
Julian’s wife.
I took a deep breath and answered.
“Hello?”
“Austin. It’s Clara. I got the evidence you sent. Thank you. I… I don’t know how to thank you enough.”
Her voice was steady, but I could hear the pain under it.
“You don’t have to thank me. We’re both in the same boat.”
She was quiet for a second.
“I filed for divorce this morning. Full custody of the kids. Seventy percent of the assets. And I’m pressing charges.”
My stomach dropped.
“Charges?”
“Julian used company funds to pay for their trips. The hotels, the flights, the gifts. Over $120,000. It’s embezzlement. Grand theft. He’s looking at five years minimum.”
I leaned back, my head spinning.
“Wow. I… I didn’t know that.”
“I also talked to the board of his company. They fired him yesterday. Effective immediately. His reputation is ruined. No firm in the state will touch him.”
I didn’t feel happy about it.
I didn’t feel vindicated.
I just felt tired.
“What about Brianna?” she asked. “Are you pressing charges against her too?”
I thought about the papers on my coffee table.
The $42,000 she’d stolen.
The way she’d begged me not to send her to jail.
I thought about the girl I’d loved at 19.
“No,” I said. “I’m letting her go. With a warning. If she comes near me again, I will.”
Clara was quiet.
“You’re a better man than I am. If I were you, I’d throw her under the jail too.”
“Maybe. But I just want it over. I want to move on.”
We talked for a few more minutes, agreeing to share any more evidence we found, then hung up.
I spent the rest of the day packing up everything that reminded me of her.
Photos in a box.
Gifts she’d given me.
The wedding album.
I carried it all out to the garage, stacking it in a corner to donate later.
By 7 p.m., the house felt bare.
Empty.
Clean.
My phone rang again.
My sister, Emma.
“Hey, you. Mom told me what happened. I’m so sorry, Austin.”
Her voice was soft, full of love.
I swallowed hard.
“Thanks, Em.”
“Can I come over? Bring pizza? Beer? You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
I thought about saying no.
About being alone with my pain.
But I couldn’t do it.
Not another night.
“Yeah. That sounds good.”
She showed up 20 minutes later, carrying a large pepperoni pizza and a twelve-pack of my favorite beer, followed by my mom, holding a pot of my favorite chicken noodle soup.
They didn’t say much at first.
They just hugged me, tight, like they could hold me together.
We sat at the dining table, eating pizza and soup, drinking beer, watching old movies on TV.
For the first time in months, I didn’t feel like I was drowning.
Around 10 p.m., my mom took my hand.
“I know it hurts right now, baby. I know it feels like you’ll never be happy again. But you will. This isn’t the end of your story. It’s just the end of a bad chapter.”
I squeezed her hand.
“I hope you’re right, Mom.”
“I’m always right,” she said, smiling a little. “You know that.”
Emma laughed, throwing a piece of popcorn at her.
They stayed the night, sleeping on the couch and the guest room, making sure I wasn’t alone.
When I woke up the next morning, the smell of coffee and pancakes filled the house.
For the first time in a long time, I felt a tiny spark of hope.
Maybe my mom was right.
Maybe this wasn’t the end.
Maybe it was the start of something better.
Over the next two weeks, the news spread fast.
Julian was arrested and charged with grand theft.
His bail was set at $50,000.
No one would bail him out.
His own parents disowned him when they found out what he’d done.
Brianna called me three times.
I didn’t answer.
She texted me 17 times.
I didn’t read them.
I blocked her number.
Blocked her on every social media app.
Made sure she couldn’t reach me.
Tom and Linda called every few days, checking on me, apologizing over and over for their daughter.
I told them there was no need.
It wasn’t their fault.
They’d raised her right.
She’d just made the worst choices of her life.
Two weeks to the day after the party, I got a letter in the mail.
From Brianna.
Handwritten.
I almost threw it away.
But I opened it anyway.
It was three pages long, messy, tear-stained.
She apologized.
Over and over.
She said she was living in a cheap motel on the other side of town.
She’d lost her job the day after the party.
No one would hire her.
Everyone knew what she’d done.
She said she’d been stupid.
Selfish.
That she’d thrown away the only good thing she’d ever had for a man who’d never loved her.
She said she’d started paying the money back.
$100 a month, into my business account.
She said she’d pay every last penny, even if it took her the rest of her life.
She said she hoped one day I could forgive her.
Not for her.
But for me.
So I could be free of the anger.
I read the letter twice.
Then I put it in the box with the rest of her things.
I didn’t feel anger.
I didn’t feel sadness.
I just felt… nothing.
May you like
Indifference.
And for the first time since I’d walked through that front door at 1 a.m. two weeks earlier, I knew I was gonna be okay.
