Then Gregory spoke for the first time.
“Preston, we also have the Savannah estate invoice.”
Nothing came through the phone.
Not even breathing.
Gregory continued.
“It was billed to Claire’s company as a client event.”
Preston finally answered.
“That was temporary.”
The same word Brooke had almost used.
Gregory’s expression hardened.
“Corporate funds are not a temporary personal wedding account.”
“I was going to pay it back.”
“Then you can explain that with documentation.”
Preston’s voice rose.
“Claire, this is insane.
You’re going to risk the company over a reimbursement?”
That sentence ended whatever remained of my hesitation.
He still believed the company was something he could use first and explain later.
“No,” I said.
“You risked it.
I’m protecting it.”
He changed tactics immediately.
“You know why this happened.”
I knew what was coming before he said it.
“You were never home.
Everything was work.
Brooke wanted a family.”
There were years of marriage inside that accusation, but only one purpose behind it now: make his choice feel inevitable and my pain feel deserved.
I remembered Eleanor’s words.
A complete woman.
A real wife.
A house without children feels dead.
For years, the absence of a child had been treated like an empty chair I was expected to apologize for every time someone noticed it.
I was finished apologizing.
“You were free to leave me,” I said.
“You were not free to lie to me, use my employee, and send your wedding bill to my company.”
He had no answer.
Gregory ended the call.
The next morning, Brooke came to the office after being instructed to meet with management regarding her access and expenses.
She looked nothing like the woman in Eleanor’s photographs.
No wedding dress.
No flowers.
No hand resting proudly over her stomach.
Just a pale face and trembling fingers wrapped around her bag.
She asked to speak to me privately.
I agreed only with another company representative present.
The moment the door closed, she started crying.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
I let the sentence sit between us.
Nine months earlier, those tears would have moved me immediately.
Now I understood that compassion without boundaries could become permission in the hands of the wrong person.
“You worked for me,” I said.
“You had access because I trusted you.”
“I know.”
“You used that access to arrange a personal event and disguise it as business.”
“Preston said he would repay everything.”
