The silver cutlery clinked sharply against polished porcelain, cold and deliberate amidst the festive

Six weeks later, in late May, the administrative division of the Franklin County Family Court finalized the civil proceedings.

I sat in a quiet conference room across from Sarah, reviewing the final dissolution agreement.

Because Mark had been convicted of federal financial crimes, the family court judge had ruled that his remaining claims to any marital property were completely voided. The escrow funds from the sale of Willow Crest Lane had been officially released—sixty percent to the victim restitution fund, and forty percent directly to my private account.

My phone rang. The screen displayed the name of the county detention facility.

I picked it up. "Hello?"

"Clare," came Mark’s raspy, heavy voice through the static line. He was calling from the federal holding facility while awaiting his formal sentencing hearing.

"Mark," I said flatly, keeping my tone completely neutral.

"I... I wanted to call you before they transfer me to the federal correctional facility in Pennsylvania," Mark stammered, his voice lacking every trace of his former confidence. "My lawyer said the sentencing guideline is eight to twelve years."

"I know," I replied.

"Clare..." he choked out, a ragged sob catching in his throat. "Why didn't you give me a chance? Why didn't you tell me you knew before Christmas? We could have fixed it. We could have worked it out."

I leaned back in my chair, looking out the conference room window at the green trees lining the downtown park.

"Mark," I said gently, "for twelve years, I gave you every chance. I gave you my youth, my trust, my father's inheritance, and my quiet loyalty. Every time I asked you to treat me like a partner, you treated me like a convenience. You didn't want a marriage, Mark. You wanted an audience."

Silence fell over the line, save for the crackle of the prison recording system.

"My mother..." Mark whispered. "She’s lost her house. She has nothing left."

"Your mother has her dignity, if she chooses to find it," I said. "I left her the Noritake china."

Mark let out a broken, shuddering breath. "I'm sorry, Clare. I'm so sorry."

"I know you are, Mark," I murmured softly. "Goodbye."

I pressed the end-call button on the screen, setting the phone down on the polished wooden table.

Sarah looked at me with deep, quiet respect. "Are you okay, Clare?"