Chapter 14 - THE LAST LIE IN OUR DIVORCE
Victor looked smaller behind prison glass.
Not harmless.
Men like him probably never became harmless.
But contained.
For once.
Gabriel sat across from him.
I watched through a secure monitor in another room.
Victor smiled.
“You brought Claire.”
Gabriel didn't answer.
“She always was curious.”
“Talk.”
Victor leaned back.
“I prepared your divorce.”
Gabriel's face didn't change.
“You sent the threats.”
“Yes.”
“You manipulated Serena.”
“Yes.”
“You altered Claire's medical communications.”
“Yes.”
“You kidnapped my son.”
“Yes.”
Each admission came like he was discussing weather.
Gabriel's hands remained still.
That mattered.
“Why the divorce?”
Victor smiled.
“Because you were becoming weak.”
“I was married.”
“Exactly.”
“I loved her.”
“Exactly.”
Gabriel's jaw tightened.
Victor continued.
“Before Claire, you were useful. Controlled. Focused.”
“And after?”
“You began questioning me.”
“I thought you were dead.”
Victor laughed.
“You began questioning everything I taught you.”
That was what Victor hated.
Not Claire.
What loving Claire changed in Gabriel.
“I thought separating you would fix it.”
“It didn't.”
“No.”
Victor looked annoyed.
“You became worse.”
Gabriel almost smiled.
“Good.”
Then Victor leaned forward.
“You want to know the funny part?”
“No.”
“You never signed those divorce papers.”
Gabriel froze.
“What?”
My heart stopped in the observation room.
Victor continued.
“I forged your signature.”
Silence.
Gabriel's face changed.
“I remember signing.”
“You signed a property transfer.”
Victor smiled.
“The divorce documents were underneath. Different pages.”
My stomach turned.
Gabriel whispered,
“So I never asked Claire for a divorce.”
“No.”
Victor looked delighted.
“You just believed you did.”
The cruelty of it was almost elegant.
He had manipulated Gabriel's memory of one of the worst days of our lives.
Gabriel stood.
Victor smiled.
“Leaving?”
“Yes.”
“You haven't asked why Serena never told you.”
Gabriel stopped.
Victor continued.
“Because she didn't know.”
Serena believed Gabriel had chosen the divorce too.
Everyone had been moved like pieces.
Gabriel looked at his father.
“You destroyed five years.”
Victor smiled.
“No.”
Gabriel's expression became calm.
“You tried.”
Then he walked away.
He found me outside.
Neither of us spoke for a minute.
Finally, I said,
“So technically we've been married this entire time.”
His mouth twitched.
“Apparently.”
“That is becoming ridiculous.”
“Yes.”
“You didn't choose the divorce.”
“No.”
“I didn't know about the threats.”
“No.”
“You didn't know about the boys.”
“No.”
We looked at each other.
Five years of pain stood between us.
But so did truth.
“I don't know what to do with that,” I whispered.
Gabriel stepped closer.
“Nothing tonight.”
I looked at him.
“No grand gesture?”
“Not tonight.”
“No demanding I move back?”
“No.”
“No ring?”
He almost smiled.
“You already have one legally.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then he became serious.
“Claire.”
“Yes?”
“I don't want the marriage Victor accidentally preserved.”
My heart dropped.
He continued.
“I want one you choose.”
My breath caught.
“So when you're ready, I'll ask.”
I stared at him.
“And if I say no?”
“I'll still be at soccer Saturday.”
That answer broke the final wall.
I stepped forward.
Gabriel didn't move.
I kissed him.
For the first time in five years.
At first, he seemed stunned.
Then his hands settled carefully at my waist.
Not pulling.
Not claiming.
Waiting.
I kissed him harder.
When we separated, his forehead rested against mine.
“I missed you,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes.
“I know.”
“I missed everything.”
“I know.”
“I can't get those five years back.”
“No.”
His breathing shook.
“I hate that.”
“So do I.”
I touched his face.
“But you have tomorrow.”
His eyes opened.
Then my phone rang.
Noah.
I answered.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Lucas broke something.”
In the background Lucas shouted,
“It was already weak!”
Gabriel closed his eyes.
I started laughing.
“What did he break?”
“The big vase.”
Gabriel's eyes widened.
“The Ming vase?”
I covered the phone.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That sounded expensive.”
“It's fine.”
“Gabriel.”
“It's replaceable.”
That one word told me everything.
The old Gabriel would have cared about the object.
This one cared that his sons were home.
Then Noah whispered,
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Are you coming home?”
I looked at Gabriel.
Home.
The word had changed.
“Yeah, baby.”
May you like
I smiled.
“We're coming home.”
