I almost smiled.

“When?”

“Last week.”

“That was fast.”

“She didn’t like everything happening.”

“No.”

“She didn’t like that you no longer had my house.”

He said nothing.

I had guessed correctly.

Celeste had not simply wanted Grant.

She liked the lifestyle around Grant.

Patricia had apparently told her that the Ansley Park house would remain in the family after the divorce.

Celeste had even discussed renovating the primary bedroom.

My bedroom.

When she discovered Grant had no ownership interest, her enthusiasm disappeared.

I should have felt vindicated.

Instead, I felt tired.

“Grant.”

“Yes?”

“You made your choices.”

“I know.”

“Then live with them.”

I ended the call.

PART 7

Grant Finally Told His Mother No

Patricia moved into a furnished rental in Sandy Springs.

She hated it.

The house was smaller.

The neighborhood was less prestigious.

There was no carriage house.

No formal library.

No giant dining room.

No staff Patricia could pretend were hers.

Melanie rented a townhouse.

Eric moved into an apartment near his work.

For the first time in years, the Monroe family had separate addresses.

Patricia blamed me for all of it.

At first, Grant agreed with her.

Then something changed.

Three months after the divorce, he called Rebecca.

He wanted to resolve the remaining reimbursement dispute.

That involved renovation expenses and marital contributions.

We attended mediation.

Grant arrived alone.

No Patricia.

That surprised me.

During a break, he sat across from me.

“You look different.”

I frowned.

“How?”

“Relaxed.”

I almost laughed.

“I sleep better.”

He looked down.

“Mom says you destroyed the family.”

“I know.”

“She says you planned the divorce to take the house.”

“The house was already mine.”

“I know.”

That answer surprised me.

Grant continued.

“I think I’ve known for a long time.”

“Known what?”

“That she was wrong.”

I said nothing.

“But it was easier to let you fight with her than for me to fight with her.”

There it was.

The truth I had waited eight years to hear.

“You made me the shield.”

He looked ashamed.

“Yes.”

“Every time she crossed a line, you waited for me to react.”

“Yes.”

“Then you told me to calm down.”

“Yes.”

“Because if I stayed quiet, you didn’t have to confront her.”

He nodded.

“Yes.”

I looked away.

That admission hurt more than excuses would have.

Because it confirmed everything.

Grant had not been unaware.

He had been avoiding discomfort at my expense.

“What changed?”

I asked.

He laughed bitterly.

“The house.”

I looked at him.

“Mom blamed me.”

“For what?”

“For signing the decree.”

“She said I betrayed her.”

I said nothing.

“Then she demanded I pay her rent.”

“That sounds like Patricia.”

“I told her no.”

I stared at him.

For eight years, Grant rarely told his mother no.

He noticed my surprise.

“I should have done it years ago.”

“Yes.”

“She didn’t speak to me for two weeks.”

“And?”

“It was peaceful.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

Grant smiled.

Then his smile faded.

“I’m sorry.”

I looked at him.

“For the divorce?”

“No.”

“For Celeste?”

“Yes.”

“For Mom?”

“Yes.”

“For letting them take over the house?”

“Yes.”

He breathed out.

“For making you feel like you had to earn the right to exist in your own home.”

My throat tightened.

That apology mattered.

It did not repair anything.

But it mattered.

“I accept the apology.”

His eyes lifted.

“That’s all?”

“What else would there be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Grant.”

I shook my head.

“Forgiveness doesn’t mean restoration.”

He looked down.

“I know.”