Chapter 6: The Empty Space
By sunset, the house was quiet. Too quiet. I walked through every room, running my hand over surfaces he’d touched, looking at the spaces he’d claimed as his—his study, his side of the master closet, the shelf in the library where he’d kept his awards. All of it felt like a costume he’d finally taken off.
I stopped in the kitchen, where Julianna had stood that morning, talking about redecorating the master wing. I opened the fridge, poured myself a glass of wine, and sat at the island, staring at the spot where her fur coat had lain.
For two years, I’d let him be the face of the company. I’d let him take the interviews, the applause, the credit for deals I’d negotiated and strategies I’d written. I’d stayed quiet because I thought that’s what partners did—lift each other up, share the weight. But he’d only used my silence as permission to take more.
My phone buzzed: a text from my lawyer. “Prenup infidelity clause fully enforceable. All assets transferred back to your name. Divorce filing served to Elliot’s lawyer ten minutes ago.”
Then another, from my best friend Lila: “Heard what happened. I’m bringing pizza and tequila. Don’t you dare clean anything before I get there.”
I laughed, and realized it was the first real laugh I’d had in months. I stood up, walked to the wall between the kitchen and living room—the one Elliot had insisted we keep plain, “too much trouble to redo”—and ran my hand over the drywall.
I wasn’t just taking back what was mine. I was finally building something that was never half his.
I pulled out my phone and pulled up the renovation files I’d hidden in a folder named “Utilities.” Every design, every floor plan, every sample I’d saved while he was busy lying to me.
It was time to start over.
