Chapter 7 - SIX MONTHS INTO THE DIVORCE, DEREK FINALLY ADMITTED THE VEGAS MESSAGE WAS MEANT TO MAKE ME BEG
The mediation room had no windows.
That felt appropriate.
Divorce negotiations had reached townhouse.
Joint accounts.
Retirement divisions.
Marital-spending adjustments.
Attorney fees.
Nothing romantic remained.
Then Derek requested to speak privately in presence of attorneys.
I said yes.
Why?
Curiosity perhaps.
Bad reason.
Still.
He sat across.
He looked older than six months earlier.
Employment loss.
Legal fees.
Paige gone.
Apartment smaller.
No sympathy obligation.
But I noticed.
Derek said:
“I want to apologize.”
Daniel Cho looked at me.
I nodded.
“Go ahead.”
Derek inhaled.
“The Vegas message was cruel.”
“Yes.”
“I was drunk.”
“Not excuse.”
“I know.”
He looked down.
“I wanted you to call.”
I said nothing.
“I expected you to.”
“Why?”
“Because…”
He struggled.
“Because I wanted to know you cared.”
I almost laughed.
“You were sleeping with Paige for a year.”
“I know.”
“You staged a wedding ceremony.”
“I know.”
“You sent a photograph calling me pathetic.”
“I know.”
“And you wanted reassurance that I cared?”
His eyes filled.
“When you didn’t react, I got angry.”
“That explains 3:37 messages.”
He almost smiled.
“You saved those.”
“Of course.”
He leaned back.
“I hated how calm you always were.”
There.
“Why?”
“Because it made me feel like nothing touched you.”
“That isn’t true.”
“I know now.”
“You knew then too.”
He was quiet.
I continued:
“My mother died in your arms.”
“You saw me break.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I could feel.”
He looked ashamed.
“So why?”
“Because when you were calm with me, I felt judged.”
I absorbed.
Maybe.
My silence often defensive.
Could feel cold.
Still.
“You could have told me.”
“I did.”
“No.”
“You mocked spreadsheets.”
“You called me controlling.”
“You did not say: Avery, when you respond this way, I feel small.”
He looked.
“That sounds like therapy.”
“It is.”
He laughed sadly.
Then:
“Paige made me feel admired.”
“I’m sure.”
“She thought I was successful.”
“You were successful.”
“Not like you.”
There.
Comparison.
I had suspected.
He continued:
“Every time someone asked what you did, room changed.”
“I started hating it.”
I felt sad.
Not guilty.
“You could have built your own confidence.”
“I know.”
“I started thinking if I left you for someone younger, fun, less…”
“Competent?”
He winced.
“Intense.”
I smiled.
“Fine.”
“I thought I’d feel powerful.”
“Did you?”
“For about six hours.”
That was almost funny.
Then his face changed.
“The credit line…”
I stiffened.
Attorneys.
He stopped.
“I know we can’t discuss beyond agreement.”
Good.
Then:
“I thought because we had talked about refinancing before, you would agree eventually.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I know.”
“I thought if I solved debt before divorce, everything would be cleaner.”
“With my financial identity.”
“Yes.”
He looked down.
“I told myself it wasn’t stealing because money would pay household debts.”
“Some were yours.”
“Yes.”
“And relocation.”
Silence.
“Paige.”
“Yes.”
I breathed.
This was closest to truth so far.
Then Derek said:
“I didn’t think you’d ever leave quietly if I asked.”
I stared.
“You literally told me marriage meant nothing.”
“I know.”
“You expected me to beg, then also expected me to resist divorce?”
“I didn’t think it through.”
That may have been most honest.
He had wanted emotional victory, financial escape, house, new woman, reputation, and my continued subsidy.
Contradictory.
Humans.
Not mastermind.
Then:
“Do you hate me?”
I looked.
“No.”
He seemed surprised.
“Not yet?”
“No.”
“I’m angry.”
“Disappointed.”
“Grieving.”
“I don’t organize around hate.”
His eyes filled.
“Can we ever—”
“No.”
I stopped before question.
“No reconciliation.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Good.
Meeting ended.
Townhouse negotiations remained.
He held legal interest.
I wanted keep.
Why?
At time, attachment.
So we negotiated buyout based appraisal, contributions, prenup, tracing, marital settlement.
Not punishment.
I could afford.
Derek signed months later.
Then I refinanced where required and became sole owner.
The day permanent deed changed, I changed locks.
Legitimately.
No emergency order.
No ambiguity.
The viral headline version would show Derek outside first night.
But this quiet day felt more important.
The house was truly mine now.
Lauren brought champagne.
I said:
“No rhinestones?”
She laughed.
“Vegas is banned.”
We drank on floor like Derek and I had first moving day.
That memory hurt.
Then softened.
A house can hold multiple histories.
Later I would sell.
Not yet.
At 2:43 that night I woke.
Looked at clock.
For once, no panic.
I whispered:
“It’s mine.”
Not house.
Time.
May you like
Life.
Mine.
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