Dominic laughed.
“My wife?”
“Yes.”
Aaron held out a document.
“This vehicle is registered solely to Mrs. Brooks. Your authorization to possess or operate it has been revoked.”
Dominic stared at him.
For several seconds, he actually seemed confused.
Then Victoria stepped forward.
“This is ridiculous. Dominic is her husband.”
Aaron’s expression never changed.
“That does not make him the owner of the vehicle.”
Victoria removed her sunglasses.
“Do you know who my son is?”
Aaron glanced at her.
“No.”
It was probably the most devastating answer anyone had given Victoria in years.
Dominic snatched the document.
“This is some kind of stunt.”
“It isn’t.”
“I have the keys.”
Aaron extended his hand.
“And Mrs. Brooks has requested their return.”
Dominic laughed again.
But this time there was anger underneath it.
“She gave me permission to use this car.”
“Previously.”
“My things are inside.”
“You may retrieve your personal belongings.”
“My family is standing here.”
“I can see that.”
Victoria stepped closer.
“We have plans tomorrow.”
Aaron looked directly at her.
“Not with Mrs. Brooks’s vehicle.”
Dominic’s sister, Serena, muttered, “Are you serious?”
Aaron didn’t answer.
Dominic looked toward the restaurant entrance, probably expecting someone to intervene.
Nobody did.
Then his father, Martin, spoke for the first time.
“Dominic, just give the man the keys.”
Dominic turned on him.
“No.”
His voice was sharp enough that several people nearby looked over.
Victoria lowered hers.
“Don’t embarrass us.”
That was when Dominic finally understood the situation.
Not the marriage.
Not what he had done to me.
The embarrassment.
People were watching.
So he yanked the keys from his pocket and slapped them into Aaron’s palm.
“This is insane.”
Aaron accepted them.
“Thank you.”
Dominic immediately pulled out his phone.
And called me.
I watched his name flash across the screen from the back seat of my father’s sedan.
I didn’t answer.
He called again.
Then again.
Then twelve times in six minutes.
My father sat across from me.
General Charles Brooks could sit perfectly still and somehow make an entire room feel disciplined.
But that afternoon he wasn’t wearing a uniform.
No medals.
No staff.
Just dark trousers, a white shirt, and an expression I remembered from childhood.
The expression that meant someone had crossed a line he would never allow them to cross twice.
Leo slept beside me in the car seat.
Dad glanced at him.
Then at me.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
That one word broke something.
I looked down at my hands.
They were trembling.
Five days after giving birth, I was sitting in a car with stitches across my abdomen, swollen ankles, leaking milk through my blouse, and nowhere I considered home anymore.
“I thought he loved me,” I whispered.
Dad’s face softened.
“I know.”
“I kept telling myself it was stress. Work. The pregnancy. His mother.”
“Audrey.”
“I know.”
He waited.
That was one thing my father had always been good at.
He never rushed silence.
Finally, I said, “I made excuses for him.”
“Yes.”
“I let him humiliate me.”
“Yes.”
“I let his family treat me like I was lucky Dominic chose me.”
Dad leaned forward.
“But today you stopped.”
I looked at him.
He nodded toward Leo.
“And that matters more.”
My phone vibrated again.
This time it was a message.
WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE SUV?
Then another.
Call me right now.
Then:
You’re embarrassing me in front of my family.
I almost laughed.
Not one question about Leo.
Not one question about whether we had arrived safely.
Not one question about my incision.
Only the SUV.
Dad watched my expression.
“What did he say?”
“He wants to know what I did to the car.”
Dad leaned back.
“Of course he does.”
Twenty minutes later, we arrived at a townhouse on the Upper East Side.
It belonged to my father through a family trust and had been mostly empty for years except when he was in New York.
I had a bedroom there.
I had always had a bedroom there.
I just hadn’t used it since marrying Dominic.
Inside, a nurse was already waiting.
A postpartum nurse.
There was food.
Medication.
A bassinet.
Formula in case I needed it.
Diapers.
Ice packs.
Clean clothes.
Everything Dominic had failed to think about had been arranged in less than an hour.
That realization almost hurt more than anything else.
Dad didn’t have to be asked.
Dominic had been asked for years.
My phone rang again.
This time I answered.
“Where are you?” Dominic snapped.
No hello.
No concern.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Somewhere safe.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not coming home tonight.”
Silence.
Then he laughed.
“You’re being dramatic.”
I closed my eyes.
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