“And stayed.”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
For months, some weak part of me had searched for a softer version of events.
Maybe he did not understand.
Maybe he did not hear.
Maybe addiction to work had blinded him.
Maybe Margaret controlled him.
Maybe Beatrice distracted him.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Arthur destroyed every maybe with one word.
Yes.
I stood.
“Claire.”
I placed my palm against the glass.
Not as affection.
As goodbye.
“You asked me once what I had done to you.”
He waited.
“I didn’t take your company.”
I looked straight into his eyes.
“I didn’t take your house.”
He began crying.
“I didn’t take your money.”
My voice remained calm.
“You traded all of it for one more day in Miami.”
I hung up.
Arthur pressed his hand against the glass.
I walked away.
I never visited him again.
The criminal case took nearly two years.
