Chapter 76
CINDY’S POV
My chest squeezed painfully as I pulled Alaric into the kind of hug we used to give each other when we were kids and the world still felt safe. His arms locked tight around me like they had never let go.
I let the warmth of his arms linger for one more heartbeat, then pulled back just enough to look at him.
My eyes were teary now.
“Good to see you too, little bro.”
He laughed under his breath, the same low, familiar sound that used to echo through the halls of our old house in D.C. His hands came up to cradle my face, thumbs sweeping gently across my cheekbones as if he were still afraid I might vanish.
“Dad’s going to lose his mind when he sees you,” he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear the crack in it.
“He missed you so much, Cin. He never stopped asking about you. Not once.”
The words hit harder than any punch Henry had ever thrown and my chest tightened so sharply I almost couldn’t breathe.
Eight years of silence, of choosing distance because I thought it was the only way to keep my father from seeing what I had become.
And all this time, he had just been waiting.
I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat and nodded. “I’m coming home, Ric. Tell him I’m finally coming home.”
Alaric’s answering grin was fierce and proud and a little bit broken all at once. Then his gaze slid past my shoulder and turned arctic.
He tilted his head, taking in Henry’s red-rimmed eyes and the sweat beading along his hairline.
“And this,” he said, his voice deceptively mild, “is the husband?”
“Ex-husband,” I corrected, savoring the word.
Henry jerked as if I had slapped him. “Ex? What are you talking about, Cindy? We’re still married. Happily married. You can’t just…”
“Happily married?
The words almost tore a laugh from my throat. I would have laughed if it didn’t still hurt somewhere deep.
Instead, I watched him with the same detached curiosity I might give a bug pinned to a board.
Then, like a drowning man reaching for the last piece of driftwood, Henry thrust his trembling hand toward Alaric, clinging to the final shred of dignity he had left.
“Henry Callahan. Callahan Corp. Pleasure to finally meet you, brother-in-law.”
Brother-in-law? This man is a clown.
Alaric stared at the outstretched hand the way someone might stare at something foul stuck to the bottom of their shoe. Then he lifted his own hand, slowly wiped the corner of his nose with the back of his knuckle, and let out a soft, incredulous chuckle.
“This,” he said to me, not bothering to look at Henry again, “is the man you lost your leg for? Jesus, Cin. I taught you better than that.”
Heat flooded my cheeks, but I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my mouth. “I said I was sorry, Ric.”
Henry’s fake smile cracked, then died completely. A dull flush crawled up his neck as he lowered his rejected hand, fingers curling into a tight, humiliated fist at his side while he stared at the ground like it might open up and swallow him whole.
Alaric finally turned the full force of his attention onHenry, his tall frame towering over him.
“You’ve got some nerve introducing yourself as my brother-in-law after everything you put her through.”
Henry lifted both palms, trying to act all bougie and reasonable.
“Look, every marriage has its ups and downs. Cindy and I just hit a rough patch. But we’re still together. I’m ready to apologize, turn over a new leaf—”
“A new leaf?!” I cut him off, my voice soft but razor-sharp. “And what about your little mistress sitting right there?” I nodded toward Monica, who had gone the color of old milk. “The one carrying your ‘bouncing baby girl’?”
Monica’s hand flew to the swell beneath her dress.
“Or,” I continued, louder now so the microphones caught every syllable, “have you forgotten the little plan you two cooked up to make me disappear permanently so you could cash in the insurance and live happily ever after?”
The lawn exploded.
Gasps, shouts, phones lifted higher. Someone actually dropped a champagne flute, the crystal shattering like a gunshot.
Alaric’s eyes snapped to me. “What are you talking about, Cin? He tried to kill you?!”
Henry’s mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. “She’s lying! She’s making it all up…”
“Oh, I’m lying now?” I scoffed, my lips twitching in disgust. “That’s rich, Henry. Really rich. But don't worry. You'll find out exactly how much I’m lying when the subpoena hits your desk tomorrow morning.”
Then, without taking my eyes off his, I lifted one hand and called over my shoulder.
“Vicky!”
Vicky was beside me in an instant, a wicked little smile stretching on her lips, as if she were born for this moment.
She dug into her purse, pulled out a thick cream envelope, then slipped it into my palm like we had rehearsed it a thousand times—because we basically had.
She gave Henry a slow, pitying once-over, then stepped back like the curtain girl in a play who knows the star is about to drop the mic.
I unfolded the papers slowly, letting every camera catch enough details, then slammed the divorce decree against Henry’s chest hard enough that he had to take a stumbling step back.
“Congratulations, Henry,” I said, my voice carrying across the silent lawn, clear and final. “You’re now a free man.”