Chapter 8: The Confrontation He Wasn't Ready For
He came to the house two days later.
I had known he would.
Patrice had told me to expect it — that men like Brian needed to believe they could still negotiate, still find the angle, still walk out of a room with something.
I let him in.
I sat at the kitchen table.
I did not offer him coffee.
He sat across from me.
He looked tired.
He had the expression of someone who had been rehearsing on the drive over.
"I've been thinking," he said, "about what I want to say to you."
"Okay."
"I know I hurt you.
I know there's no excuse for what I did.
But I want you to understand that what I have with you — what we built together — that's real.
That has always been real."
"Brian."
He stopped.
"I've spoken to a lawyer," I said.
"I've also spoken to Dana.
And I've spoken to someone named Renata."
The color left his face.
"Renata," he repeated.
"She sends her regards." I set my hands flat on the table.
"I know about the business account.
I know about the financial advisor.
I know what you were planning and when you were planning it."
He was very still.
"I also know what you told Dana you'd do if she talked." I kept my voice even.
"Threatening a woman with losing her child to keep her quiet.
That's the part I keep coming back to, Brian.
Not the affair.
Not the years of lying.
That part."
He leaned forward.
His voice dropped.
"You don't understand the full picture —"
"Then explain it to me.
Right now.
Explain to me why threatening Dana with custody was the right call."
"I was scared.
I panicked.
I never would have actually —"
"You said it.
Multiple times.
Dana has the voicemails." I watched his face.
"Patrice has heard them."
His jaw tightened.
"What do you want?
Tell me what you want and let's figure this out like adults."
"I want a divorce," I said.
"I want a fair settlement based on accurate financials, including the business account.
And I want you to leave Dana alone.
No custody threats.
No pressure.
Whatever your relationship with Lily looks like going forward, it gets worked out through proper channels, with both of you treated fairly."
"You're negotiating for her now?" His voice had an edge.
"She's the one who —"
"She's the mother of your daughter," I said.
"And she told me the truth when you were on the highway planning a cover story.
So yes.
I'm including her in this."
He stood up.
He put both hands on the table and leaned toward me.
"You have no idea what I can make this cost you," he said quietly.
"Legally, financially — I have resources you don't.
I've been planning this longer than you think."
I looked up at him.
"I know," I said.
"Renata showed me exactly how long."
He straightened up.
Something shifted in his face — not defeat yet, but the first crack in the performance.
"Sit down, Brian," I said.
"Your lawyer is going to call my lawyer.
That's how this ends.
Not here."
He stood there for another moment.
Then he picked up his keys.
"This isn't over," he said.
"Yes," I said quietly.
"It is."
He left.
The door didn't slam — he controlled that much.
But I heard his car start too fast, the tires on the driveway too loud.
I sat at the table.
My hands were steady.
I picked up my phone and called Patrice.
"He came," I said.
"How did it go?"
"He threatened me before he left."
A pause.
"Specifically?"
"Vague enough to deny.
He mentioned resources and planning."
"Okay." She was already writing.
"That's actually helpful.
It tells us he's not going to cooperate voluntarily." A pause.
"How are you?"
I looked at the empty chair across from me.
May you like
"I'm fine," I said.
And then, surprised to find it was true: "I think I'm actually fine."
