Chapter 9: Two Days
I told Marcus that evening.
Not everything.
Not the recording.
Not yet.
But I told him his mother had asked to meet me, and what she had said when I got there.
He listened without interrupting.
That was new.
When I finished, he was quiet for a long time.
"She went to you directly," he said finally.
"Without telling me."
"Yes."
"And she threatened your father's fund."
"She tried to.
The information she had was outdated and already publicly addressed."
Marcus stood up and walked to the window.
He stood there with his back to me, and I watched his shoulders carry something I hadn't seen on him before — not panic, not performance.
Something heavier.
"I need to ask you something," he said, without turning around.
"Ask."
"Did you ever trust me?
Before last night.
Before any of this."
I thought about it honestly, because he deserved that.
"I trusted who I thought you were," I said.
"I think that person exists.
I just don't think he's been in charge very often."
He turned around.
His eyes were red at the edges.
"I've been letting her run things my entire life," he said.
"My apartment.
My career choices.
Who I dated.
She had opinions about all of it and I — " He stopped.
"I told myself it was easier.
That she meant well.
That it wasn't worth the fight."
"And the agreement?"
"She presented it as standard.
She said all families did something like it.
She said it was to protect me." He looked at me.
"I knew it wasn't right.
I signed it anyway.
And I told myself I'd fix it later."
"Later came," I said.
"Yes." He sat back down.
"It did."
We sat in silence for a moment.
Not a hostile silence.
Something more complicated than that.
"What are you going to do about the recording?" he asked.
"I haven't decided."
"If you use it—"
"I know what it means," I said.
"I'm not going to make that decision tonight."
He nodded slowly.
"What do you need from me?
Between now and the signing."
I looked at him.
At the man who had grabbed my wrist and told me to apologize.
At the man who had called his mother and said the agreement was void.
At the man sitting across from me now with red eyes and no performance left in him.
"I need you to talk to Richard," I said.
"Tomorrow.
Tell him yourself what happened at the reception.
Don't wait for him to hear it from someone else."
Marcus looked uncertain.
"That's — that's a significant conversation."
"I know.
Have it anyway."
He was quiet.
"And I need you to understand," I continued, "that if we go to that signing, it is not a reset.
It is not us pretending the last three days didn't happen.
It means we are starting from exactly here — with everything on the table — and building something different."
"Different from what?"
"Different from a marriage where I hand my paycheck to your mother and you tell me not to make a scene."
He almost smiled.
It was a sad smile, but it was real.
"I can do different," he said.
"I hope so," I said.
"I genuinely do."
He left at ten.
I sat in the quiet apartment for a while after he was gone, not thinking about the signing or the recording or Beatrice.
I was thinking about my father's lesson.
*Watch how people treat you before they know what you have.*
Marcus had not known what I had.
And he had still, in the end, when it mattered, made the call.
That was worth something.
I wasn't sure yet if it was worth everything.
But I had one day left to decide.
My phone lit up on the table.
A message from Donna.
*Whatever you decide — I'm glad you know the truth.
You deserved to know it.*
I typed back: *Thank you for being the one to tell me.*
May you like
Her reply came quickly: *Someone should have done it sooner.*
I set the phone down and looked at the ceiling for a long time.
