5
703words
Julian did almost nothing, it was handled entirely through lawyers.
To my surprise, he didn't make me leave with nothing.
He gave me a substantial sum, a condominium unit, and even the villa where we'd lived.
I visited — nothing had been touched. The jewelry and clothes that had been held without my authority remained.
The safe's passcode had been reset to my birthday.
Within two days I listed everything on a luxury resale platform: clothes, jewelry, even the property. Then I received a message, "Why are you selling? Short on funds?"
I didn't reply.
As night fell, someone rang the doorbell.
Julian's private assistant stood at the gate, holding a check.
"Mr. West said the amount in the agreement was short and asked me to bring this additional check."
I took the check and walked to the car.
"Julian, I appreciate you not being completely cruel. I was prepared to walk out with nothing."
He was visible through the car window, drawn and hoarse. "Lena, I only wanted to compensate you."
I handed the check back through the window. "I already received sufficient compensation. We're square, Julian."
He grew agitated. "How can we be even? Your foster mother, my attitudes — I should apologize. I'm sorry."
I admitted frankly, "I hated you. Her husband abandoned her, her son ignored and replaced her. Yet I must concede: you kept her alive for three more years."
At her end, I hated them both with an intensity that made me want to hurt them.
Yet the old woman, on her last days, reached to cover my eyes and murmured regrets about the plans we never fulfilled: the trip to the Grand Canyon, the artistic photos we never took.
In that second, I hated myself most.
I'd been powerless, dependent on others to keep her alive.
I regretted not following Professor Shaw's advice — I should have spent her last days traveling with her.
I'd kept her bound to a hospital bed for three years, refusing to let go.
I'd let my stubbornness and clinging make her suffer and deprive her of joy.
"Now everything returns to where it should be. You gave me a lot of money — I'll call that my gain."
My tone was a mixture of self-mockery and regret.
Julian couldn't reply. We parted in silence.
The items on the resale site sold quickly, buyers paying without haggling, no questions. Even the villa sold fast.
I didn't inquire who bought them.
I knew in my heart.
I had completely cut the past away. I threw myself into my work.
Before I knew it, I was mentoring students of my own.
Professor Shaw told me seriously, "Choose your students carefully. I
don't want to be old and still rescuing a string of apprentices."
We both laughed. Then I got a call: Julian had been burned in an arson and was hospitalized.
After a long hesitation I went to see him.
The burns weren't life-threatening, but one side of his face was heavily bandaged.
Doctors worried about disfigurement.
He smiled bitterly when he saw me.
"After I fired her, she kept coming back.
I put her on the industry blacklist, just to make her behave. I didn't think she'd do something this extreme."
I didn't ask who had set the fire.
I offered the routine formalities of a concerned former spouse. When a new round of visitors arrived, I excused myself.
From behind, Julian said, "What we had before is gone. She will be punished."
I didn't turn.
Whether Rachel set the fire to kill Julian or to kill me, they fit together — both stubbornly attached to someone they shouldn't love.
Julian thought keeping the marital home would bring me back, Rachel thought without me the two of them would return to the old days.
I'd heard her hateful words in the detention center.
I felt nothing but an odd sympathy: clinging to the past and refusing to move on — both of them perfect for each other.
Regret is sufficient once in a life.
After that I never saw Julian again or followed his news. My life moves forward and I refuse to look back.
(The End)
