Chapter 7 - Derek's First Apology Was Almost Enough
We met through attorneys six weeks after the wedding.
Derek looked thinner.
No wedding ring.
Mine had been removed in the hospital.
He started immediately.
“I am sorry.”
I said nothing.
“The cake was disgusting.”
“Yes.”
“I hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“I have no excuse.”
That surprised me.
No joke.
No alcohol.
No Patricia.
Then:
“I was angry.”
“About what?”
His jaw tightened.
I waited.
“The vote.”
There it was.
“What happened before the cake?”
He looked toward his attorney.
Then back at me.
“I got an email.”
“From?”
“Meridian.”
“About Atlas?”
“Yes.”
The buyer had insisted the legacy product review be completed before closing unless every required shareholder waived the issue.
I had already told company counsel I would not waive.
Derek learned during the reception.
Twenty minutes before cutting the cake.
“You were angry because I wouldn't sign?”
“Yes.”
“So you grabbed my neck.”
“I wasn't planning to hurt you.”
“Did that distinction help my face?”
His eyes dropped.
“No.”
Then I asked:
“Did you marry me for my vote?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“Did Patricia encourage the relationship because of my vote?”
“She liked that our families were reconnecting.”
“That wasn't my question.”
His expression changed.
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
I believed him.
That was inconvenient.
Then:
“When did you start expecting marriage to change my vote?”
Silence.
“Derek.”
“After my father died.”
Richard died two years into our relationship.
Derek became CEO.
Inherited debt.
Inherited Patricia's demands.
Inherited unfinished Atlas problems.
“I thought once you understood everything I was carrying—”
“You'd what?”
“Trust me.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You thought love should reduce my standard of proof.”
He stared.
Then whispered:
“Maybe.”
That was closer to truth than anything he had said in eighteen months.
Then I asked about my father's missing Atlas folder.
Derek looked physically ill.
“You checked it out.”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
“I destroyed it.”
The room disappeared around me.
“What?”
“Not all the records.”
“The original file.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His attorney interrupted.
Derek lifted one hand.
“No. She deserves it.”
He looked at me.
“I thought it contained privileged notes that could be taken out of context.”
“So you destroyed my dead father's file.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After Richard died.”
Four years earlier.
During our relationship.
Before our engagement.
Before the abuse escalated.
I sat back.
There it was.
May you like
The first act Derek could not attribute to our deteriorating marriage.
He had crossed a line long before I knew I needed protection from him.
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