After I Gave My Husband Away, He Begged Me to Stay Chapter 08
Lauren printed the demand letter.
My phone buzzed nonstop while I signed it.
Ethan sent more than a dozen messages.
[Those screenshots aren’t what you think.)
[Ryan always exaggerates.]
[I wasn’t trying to kick you out.)
[Megan and Noah are sleeping in the guest room tonight.]
[I didn’t let her touch the primary bedroom.]
The last one said:
[Come back. We’ll talk face–to–face.]
I did not reply.
Lauren slid the documents into a courier envelope.
“Where am I sending this?”
I gave her the address of Ethan’s condo.
She sealed the label.
“It should get there tomorrow at the earliest.”
I nodded.
When I left the law office, a food truck downstairs had just opened for the evening.
The flat–top grill hissed.
The guy at the window asked if I wanted hot sauce.
“Extra.”
The first bite of my breakfast burrito made me cough from the heat.
Grant called.
“Have you eaten?”
“Im eating.”
“What?”
“A breakfast burrito.”
“You really are easy to feed.”
“Do you have a reason for calling?”
“I left the corporate apartment key with the front desk.”
“Facilities said you start Monday, so I pushed the morning meeting to ten.”
“Why?”
“In case you get lost.”
“I know how to use GPS.”
“Fine. Nine, then.”
I laughed.
He went quiet for two seconds.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“You’re really coming?”
“HR already sent the email.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I could hear him typing on the other end.
“I mean, you’re not getting married?”
I took another bite and said nothing.
“Your wedding leave request disappeared from the system.”
“News travels fast.”
“So I’m not getting married.”
He did not ask why.
After a moment, he said,
“Then I’ll see you Monday.”
“Yeah.”
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“The office that was supposed to be yours three years ago is still empty.”
“What, you’ve been saving it for dust?”
“I saved it for you.”
I swallowed the last bite of my burrito.
“Grant.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t say things like that.”
“Like what?”
“Things people can misunderstand.”
He laughed.
“Then go ahead and misunderstand.”
He hung up.
I folded the wrapper and dropped it into the trash.
On the third day, the district approved Noah’s residency paperwork.
I wouldn’t have known.
Megan sent me a photo.
Noah stood outside Westbridge Elementary with a new backpack on.
Ethan was crouched beside him, fixing his collar.
Megan wrote:
[Everything went through. Thank you for not coming to the school and causing a scene.]
A little later, another message appeared:
【Claire, I owe you one.]
I replied:
[You don’t.]
She typed back almost immediately.
[You’re still angry.】
【No.】
[Then come home. The district visit should be over by the end of this week at the latest.]
I glanced at the mover carrying boxes into my corporate apartment.
[I moved to San Jose.]
There was no reply for a long time.
Five minutes later, Ethan called.
“Where did you go?”
“San Jose.”
“For what?”
“Work.”
“The new campus?”
“Yeah.”
His breathing changed.
“Why didn’t you talk to me first?”
“Did you talk to me before you got married?”
He went silent.
I stuck the unit number, 1206, onto a moving box.
“When are you coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Claire, don’t use your career to prove a point.”
“I’m not.”
“You said you weren’t going to San Jose.”
“I also said I was going to marry you on August eighteenth.”
“Plans change.”
Ethan lowered his voice.
“Are you doing this to punish me?”
“You’re giving yourself way too much credit.”
“Then why leave now?”
“Because today is my start date.”
“Can’t you wait until I get things here sorted out?”
“No.”
Noah’s voice came through the phone.
“Dad Ethan! The teacher needs you!”
The call went completely quiet.
I said,
“Go.”
Then hung up.
The corporate apartment wasn’t much.
One bed. One desk. One old wardrobe.
Facilities had left an electric kettle and two rolls of trash bags on the windowsill.
I put my toothbrush in a cup.
Someone knocked.
I opened the door. Grant stood outside.
He was holding a folding drying rack and two bags of fruit.
“Facilities said the room doesn’t have one of these.”
“You handle housekeeping now?”
“I’m trying to stop our new operations lead from hanging laundry over a chair on day one and ruining the campus image.”
I took the drying rack.
“Thanks.”
He glanced into the room.
“Only two suitcases?”
“Yeah.”
“You move fast.”
“There wasn’t much there that felt like mine.”
Whatever he’d been about to say died on his tongue.
He set the fruit on the desk instead.
“The cafeteria downstairs closes at seven.”
“Coming?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t ask anything else.
On my sixth day in San Jose, Ethan transferred fifteen thousand dollars toward the renovation
costs.
The memo said: [For now. I’ll send the rest at the end of the month.]
I sent it back.
Then told Lauren to proceed through the formal process.
At nine that night, Ethan called.
“Why did you return it?”
“Pay it the way the demand letter says.”
“Do we really have to deal with each other through attorneys now?”
“The money needs to be handled properly.”
“I’m not refusing to pay you!”
“Then pay it by the deadline.”
I heard him pace a few steps on the other end.
“Claire, you talk to me like I’m some stranger now.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Yell at me. Say something.”
“I’m busy.”