“You are coming to face what happened.”
“I know that too.”
Outside, the air was cold enough to sting the exposed skin along my temples. Lucia draped the coat around my shoulders but did not reach for the wig.
I left it in my purse.
The ride home was quiet.
Michael sat across from me in the back seat, his hands resting between his knees. He had removed his jacket. The white shirt beneath it was wrinkled, and one cuff was stained with champagne.
He looked younger without the wedding photographs arranged around him.
Not twelve.
Not innocent.
Just a man who had finally run out of places to hide.
At home, Lucia led me into the bathroom.
The mirror still showed the woman from that morning, but the terror had left her face.
Lucia removed the wig and placed it gently on the counter.
Then she ran cool water over a clean cloth.
“Tell me if it hurts,” she said.
“It already hurts.”
“I know.”
Her fingers moved across my scalp with careful precision. Every touch was light enough to be a question.
Michael stood in the hallway.
He watched without entering.
When Lucia finished, she placed a small jar of ointment beside the sink.
“You should let the skin breathe tonight.”
I looked at the wig.
“I’ve been letting other people decide what I should cover for most of my life.”
Lucia’s expression softened.
“Then let tonight belong to you.”
She kissed my cheek and left the room.
Avery was waiting in my study with three folders arranged on the desk.
The ivory envelope sat in the center.
Still sealed.
Untouched.
The twenty-two million dollars remained where I had put it, behind metal and a combination no one else knew.
Avery opened the first folder.
“The transfer is canceled. The penthouse remains yours. The investment accounts remain under your control. Sabrina has no legal claim to any of it.”
He opened the second.
“The recording and note have been preserved. The police have enough to document the entry and the assault. If you wish to pursue the matter, I will coordinate with counsel.”
“I do.”
He nodded.
The third folder contained a fresh draft of my will.
For a long moment, I stared at the blank signature line.
“I don’t want to write this while I’m angry.”
“Then don’t.”
“I don’t want to leave the money to Michael.”
“Then don’t.”
“I don’t want to use it to punish him either.”
Avery sat across from me.
“What do you want it to do?”
The question moved through me slowly.
