Olivia had already moved most of her belongings to Rachel’s house. Her clothes, her books, the few pieces of furniture that had belonged to her grandmother. She had packed carefully, taking only what was legally and emotionally hers. The nursery she had prepared in their home remained untouched. She would not raise her daughter in a house built on lies.
Instead, she had rented a small apartment near the waterfront, a place with good light for the architecture work she planned to resume. The apartment was modest compared to the estate, but it would be honest that mattered more than size or luxury. The baby kicked strongly, as if sensing her mother’s tension. Olivia placed both hands on her belly and spoke softly to her unborn daughter.
She promised her a life of truth, even when truth was difficult. She promised her a mother who stood up for herself and taught by example. She promised her that love without respect was not really love at all and that being alone was better than being lonely in a marriage. Vincent arrived at his office building at exactly 8:15, greeting the doorman with his usual confidence.
He rode the elevator to the top floor, exchanging pleasantries with other executives. His corner office had floor toseeiling windows overlooking the harbor. From here, he could see some of the properties he had developed, physical proof of his success. He had a meeting with potential investors from overseas in 15 minutes.
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