Chapter 13 - The Day He Let Me Go
Roman declined the CEO position.
Chicago business media treated the announcement like a death.
CARTER WALKS AWAY.
FOUNDER REFUSES RETURN AFTER VALE SCANDAL.
WHO WILL LEAD CARTER HOLDINGS?
Roman sent me one headline.
Apparently I died.
I replied:
Sorry for your loss.
He sent back:
Thank you. Please respect my privacy during this difficult time.
I laughed aloud.
Margaret looked at me from across the kitchen.
"Roman?"
"Yes."
"You're flirting."
"I am not."
"Of course."
I put down my phone.
We were not flirting.
Probably.
Roman remained chairman for six months to stabilize the company, but he handed daily operations to Julia.
Yes.
Julia Mason.
The executive assistant everyone once overlooked became interim CEO.
Roman nominated her himself.
Several board members objected.
Roman reportedly said, "Then vote."
She won nine to three.
When she called me afterward, she sounded stunned.
"He gave me his office."
"You deserve it."
"I spent twelve years scheduling his dentist appointments."
"Now you can schedule his exit."
She laughed.
Roman used some of his money to start a smaller investment firm.
No giant headquarters.
No army of assistants.
Four employees.
He named it Northline.
When I asked why, he shrugged.
"Because I'm trying to figure out which direction is north."
Corny.
But I secretly liked it.
The estate sold in August.
A family from Minnesota bought it.
Three children.
Two dogs.
When Roman told me, he sounded relieved.
"What did you do with your half?"
"Donated it."
"All of it?"
"Yes."
"Roman."
"What?"
"That was millions."
"I still have too much."
"You once threatened to fire a gardener over a four-hundred-dollar invoice."
"I was unpleasant."
"You were insane."
"Therapy."
I smiled.
"What foundation?"
He hesitated.
"Your father's."
My throat tightened.
The Hart Foundation had become mostly dormant after my father's death.
I had recently restarted it with Elena's help, funding legal and financial counseling for women leaving controlling relationships.
Not just abusive marriages.
Any situation where someone had no idea what they owned, signed, or surrendered.
"Why mine?"
"Because your father protected you before he knew you'd need it."
Roman looked down.
"I want someone else to have that."
I couldn't speak for a moment.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me."
"Why?"
"Because generosity doesn't erase betrayal."
"No."
He met my eyes.
"But one thing can be good even if another was bad."
That was something my therapist said.
I suspected our therapists were secretly conspiring.
By September, Evelyn was almost nine months old.
She had Roman's eyes.
My stubbornness.
Margaret's ability to judge people silently.
Roman and I had settled into shared parenting.
He had her every Wednesday evening and every other weekend during the day.
No overnights yet because she was still nursing regularly.
He never complained.
Then one Saturday, he arrived with a woman.
I saw them through the window.
Tall.
Silver-blond hair.
Nervous posture.
Roman stood beside her, not touching.
My heart knew before my brain did.
Marianne.
His mother.
I opened the door.
Roman looked uncertain.
"I should have called."
"Yes."
"I'm sorry."
Marianne's eyes filled.
"I told him not to surprise you."
"I panicked," Roman admitted.
I almost laughed.
"Come in."
Marianne looked at me.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
She stepped inside.
Evelyn was on a blanket in the living room chewing a stuffed elephant.
Marianne saw her.
Her entire body shook.
"Oh."
One syllable.
Roman looked away.
I suddenly understood this wasn't an introduction.
It was a reckoning.
Marianne knelt slowly.
"Hello, Evelyn."
Evie stared.
Then offered her the wet elephant.
Marianne laughed and cried simultaneously.
"Thank you."
Roman stood frozen.
I touched his arm.
He glanced at me.
"Sit," I whispered.
He did.
For the next hour, I watched three generations of a damaged family share a room.
Marianne did not ask Roman to forgive her.
She did not blame Arthur for everything.
She simply answered questions.
Sometimes badly.
Sometimes painfully.
She admitted she had failed.
Roman listened.
At one point, he asked, "Why didn't you write?"
She said, "I did."
He stared.
"What?"
"Hundreds of letters."
"I never got one."
"I know."
"How?"
"Your father returned some. The rest I was too afraid to send."
Roman looked sick.
Marianne opened her purse.
Inside were bundles tied with ribbon.
Letters.
Years of them.
Roman didn't touch them.
Not then.
When Marianne left, he stood by the window for a long time.
"You okay?"
"No."
"Good answer."
He laughed softly.
"I don't know what to do with those."
"Read them."
"What if they make it worse?"
"They might."
"What if they make me forgive her?"
"Would that be terrible?"
He looked at me.
"It feels disloyal to the kid who waited."
My chest hurt.
"Forgiving someone doesn't mean telling your younger self it didn't matter."
Roman closed his eyes.
"How did you learn this stuff?"
"Very expensive therapy."
He laughed.
Then Evelyn crawled toward him.
Her first real crawl.
Three awkward movements.
Then another.
Roman dropped to his knees.
"Evie."
She grinned.
Crawled directly into his hands.
His face lit up.
I grabbed my phone.
"Do it again!"
Evelyn did not.
Naturally.
Roman held her.
He looked so happy that for one dangerous second I imagined kissing him.
The thought frightened me.
I stood.
"I'm making coffee."
Roman followed me into the kitchen carrying Evelyn.
"Savannah."
"What?"
He hesitated.
"Are you dating anyone?"
My back stiffened.
"No."
"Okay."
"Why?"
"No reason."
"Roman."
He exhaled.
"I'm asking because someone asked me out."
There it was.
A strange pain.
Completely unreasonable.
We were divorced.
He was allowed.
"Who?"
"Someone I met through Northline."
"Do I know her?"
"No."
"Do you like her?"
"I don't know."
"Then go."
Roman studied me.
"You mean that?"
"Yes."
Lie.
But an important one.
I couldn't ask Roman to become free while secretly expecting him to wait forever.
"Okay," he said.
Again that word.
He left an hour later.
I cried after the door closed.
Not because he had done anything wrong.
Because I finally understood divorce didn't only mean escaping what hurt.
It meant releasing what you still wanted.
Roman went on the date.
He told me nothing.
I asked nothing.
Two weeks later, a photograph appeared online.
Roman Carter leaving a restaurant with a beautiful woman.
No touching.
No scandal.
Just two single adults.
It shouldn't have hurt.
It did.
That night, Dr. Brooks asked me a question.
"Do you want him back?"
"I don't know."
"Wrong question," she said.
I frowned.
"What is the right one?"
"Do you want the man he is becoming?"
That kept me awake.
Because the answer wasn't the same as wanting the husband I'd lost.
And before I could decide, Roman made the decision easier.
He stopped dating the woman.
Not for me.
He told me months later he'd realized he was using dating to test whether he was capable of moving on.
"It wasn't fair to her," he said.
That sentence told me more about his progress than any grand gesture could.
In October, Roman brought Evelyn back after a Saturday outing.
He stood on the porch.
"I need to tell you something."
My heart jumped.
"What?"
"I got an offer."
"Business?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Seattle."
My smile disappeared.
"For how long?"
"Permanent."
I stared at him.
"What are you going to do?"
He looked at Evelyn in my arms.
"I turned it down."
"Roman."
"I won't move away from her."
"You didn't ask me."
"About moving?"
"About whether we could adjust."
His expression changed.
"I assumed you'd say no."
"That's still control."
He winced.
"You're right."
I sighed.
"Do you want Seattle?"
"No."
"Then fine."
He smiled.
"But next time, ask."
"Okay."
He turned to leave.
"Roman."
He looked back.
"Do you ever regret signing the divorce papers?"
His face became very still.
"Every day."
My throat tightened.
"Then why don't you say anything?"
"Because letting you go only counts if I don't keep pulling on the rope."
He walked to his car.
I stood on the porch holding our daughter.
And for the first time since Christmas Eve, I realized the man I had divorced might be becoming someone I could choose.
But before I could tell him, winter returned.
May you like
And with it came a phone call that made every other problem feel small.
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