For ten minutes, he does not answer.
Then he writes:
You’ve changed.
He means it as an accusation.
I receive it as proof.
The next day, Nathan arrives at Vivian’s office wearing a navy suit and no wedding ring.
That detail hits harder than expected. Not because I want him to wear it, but because he removed his only after I removed mine, as if even my leaving had to become a competition.
He sits across from me with his attorney beside him, but his eyes stay on my face.
I do not look away.
Vivian starts the recording.
Nathan speaks first.
“Caroline, I’m sorry things became public.”
Not sorry I betrayed you.
Not sorry I forged your name.
Not sorry I gambled your home.
Sorry the room found out.
I fold my hands on the table.
“I’m not here for apologies shaped like press statements.”
His jaw tightens.
His attorney touches his arm.
Nathan inhales.
“I made mistakes with the project.”
“You committed crimes.”
His eyes flash.
“That is a dangerous accusation.”
“So was my signature.”
For one second, the old Nathan appears. The courtroom face. The predator smile. The man who loved arguments because he believed language was a knife only he knew how to hold.
Then he remembers the recorder.
He sits back.
“What do you want?”