Chapter 10 - THE MORNING AFTER
At seven the next morning, sunlight entered the hotel suite as if nothing had happened.
I had barely slept.
My phone contained eighty-three missed calls and more messages than I could count.
Some were from friends.
Some from wedding guests.
Several were from reporters.
One video of Eleanor tearing my dress had already received more than three million views.
Another showed Amanda’s purse opening and the ring rolling across the floor.
The internet had given Chloe’s wedding a new name.
The Diamond Disaster.
I hated it.
I did not want to be content.
I did not want strangers debating whether my reaction had been dignified enough.
I wanted breakfast.
I wanted comfortable clothes.
I wanted my baby to stop kicking my ribs.
My mother arrived at 7:15.
She entered carrying a garment bag, hugged me for almost a full minute, then looked at my father.
“You let her stay awake all night?”
My father looked offended.
“I do not control her sleeping schedule.”
“You control countries when you want to.”
“Hotels.”
“Same personality.”
I laughed for the first time in hours.
My mother, Evelyn Vale, helped me into a soft cream maternity dress.
She examined the torn gown lying over a chair.
“I liked that dress.”
“So did I.”
She touched the ripped seam.
Then she became quiet.
“Did Eleanor hurt you?”
“No.”
“Did she frighten you?”
I considered the question.
“Not anymore.”
My mother nodded.
“Good.”
She never asked whether I planned to leave Dominic.
She already knew.
At eight, Dominic requested permission to come upstairs.
I agreed.
My parents left us alone.
He stood near the doorway.
He had changed clothes.
He looked older.
“I spoke to a lawyer.”
“So did I.”
He nodded.
“I assumed.”
I held out a folder.
Divorce papers.
Not finalized.
Not dramatic.
Just prepared.
Dominic stared at them.
“You already had these?”
“My father’s attorney prepared them overnight.”
He gave a broken laugh.
“Of course.”
“You don’t have to sign today.”
He looked at me.
“Do you want this?”
“Yes.”
His eyes filled.
“You don’t want counseling?”
“I asked for counseling last year.”
He remembered.
“You said we didn’t need it.”
“I was wrong.”
“You were.”
He sat down.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he said,
“I loved you.”
I looked at him.
“I think you did.”
“Think?”
“You loved being with me.”
His face tightened.
“You loved how easy I made your life.”
“That’s not fair.”
“You loved that I didn’t make you choose.”
He looked down.
“And when I finally needed you to choose, you asked me to let them search me.”
Tears fell onto his hands.
“I keep replaying it.”
“So do I.”
“I wish I could go back.”
“You can’t.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
I expected him to argue.
He did not.
Instead, he asked the one question that mattered.
“Can I still be there when our daughter is born?”
My chest tightened.
“Yes.”
His head lifted.
“If you are calm.”
“I will be.”
“If you respect my boundaries.”
“I will.”
“And if you understand that being her father will never give you the right to control me.”
“I understand.”
For the first time since the wedding, I saw something change in Dominic.
Not redemption.
Not yet.
But recognition.
He finally understood that apologies did not restore access.
He had lost something.
And losing it was part of the consequence.
Before he left, he stopped beside the door.
“Vivienne.”
“Yes?”
“I am going to cooperate with the investigation against my mother.”
I nodded.
“You should.”
“Even if she goes to prison.”
I looked at him.
May you like
“Especially then.”
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