Chapter 4 - The Price of Performance
The following week was a blur of legal meetings and quiet, agonizing rehabilitation. My leg was healing, but the scar would be a map of that night for the rest of my life.
Ryan was not giving up. He showed up at my mother’s bakery, expecting a scene. He brought his mother, Patricia, who had the audacity to look stern and disappointed.
"Emily, this is ridiculous," Patricia said, walking into the shop, the bell above the door chiming sharply. "Vanessa has been through a trauma. You are being petty, and this display of temper is embarrassing for both families."
I stepped out from the back office. I wasn't wearing my wedding dress. I was wearing jeans and a loose sweater, my leg heavily braced. I looked stronger than I had in years.
"The 'trauma' of a bruised ego?" I asked, my voice steady.
Ryan stepped forward, his eyes pleading. "Emily, please. We can talk about this. The money... that was just a misunderstanding about the accounts. I was going to pay it back."
"The money is gone, Ryan," I said. "And so is the access. You are no longer on my accounts, my insurance, or my life."
"You can't just throw away six years," he snapped, his mask slipping.
"I didn't," I said. "You did. When you looked at me on the asphalt, when you chose her over the woman you promised to cherish, you made your choice. You aren't here for me. You're here because you need the money I was providing for your little 'lifestyle' with Vanessa."
His face contorted. He reached out to grab my arm, but Paige was there, stepping between us, her expression lethal.
"Touch her, and I’ll make sure the police see the rest of those messages," Paige warned.
The 'rest of the messages' were a bluff, but Ryan didn't know that. He retreated, his face a mask of rage and fear.
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"You're making a mistake," he spat.
"No," I said, turning my back on him. "I'm making a life. And you aren't in it."
