FINAL PART
An hour later, I walked out of the courthouse doors into the bright afternoon sunlight of downtown Chicago.
Julian was standing on the granite steps, surrounded by his defense team and a very panicked-looking Eleanor. His gray suit — the one he had worn to our wedding — was crumpled, his tie undone, his arrogant composure entirely shattered.
As I walked past him toward the curb where a taxi was waiting, he took a step toward me.
“Evelyn… wait,” he rasped, his eyes bloodshot. “Please. We can work out an agreement. You can take the house… just don’t send those financial records to the federal prosecutors. Don’t ruin me.”
I stopped and looked at him.
For ten years, I had stayed quiet, keeping the peace, managing his schedule, managing his home, and swallowing his subtle cruelties because I thought staying meant protecting our family.
“I didn’t ruin you, Julian,” I said, my voice completely steady and free of anger. “You spent three years recording your own destruction. Noah and I just turned on the lights.”
He reached out to touch my arm, but I stepped cleanly out of his reach.
“My attorney will handle the final asset division,” I added. “Don’t ever contact Noah directly again.”
I got into the back seat of the cab, where Noah was waiting for me, holding his stuffed bear.
As the taxi pulled away from the curb, leaving Julian and his mother standing alone on the courthouse steps, Noah leaned his head against my shoulder.
“Mom?” he asked softly.
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Are we going home now?”
I wrapped my arm around his small shoulders, pulling him close, and looked out at the city opening up in front of us under the clear blue sky.
“Yes, Noah,” I smiled, feeling the sun warm against my face. “We’re finally going home.”
