My father and I drove to Marblehead on a gray morning.
I had expected the trip to make me emotional.
Instead, I found myself watching the road and noticing things I had forgotten were there.
The small shops near the waterfront.
The familiar turns.
The stretch of water that appeared between the houses when the road opened up.
My father kept both hands on the steering wheel.
He didn't ask whether I was thinking about Aaron.
I was grateful for that.
When we arrived, I stood outside the property for a moment before going in.
My father had transferred it to me before my wedding.
At the time, I had treated the paperwork as one more practical detail to finish before the ceremony.
I hadn't imagined that I would someday return to the house while preparing to end my marriage.
I unlocked the door.
The rooms were quiet.
The air inside felt cool, and a faint smell of wood remained from the last time I had visited.
I walked through the living room and looked toward the windows.
The water was visible beyond them.
I remembered sitting there before my wedding, talking with my mother about the life I hoped to build.
I had wanted a marriage in which two people could be ambitious without making one another feel small.
I had wanted a home that felt safe.
I had wanted to be loved without having to earn that love every morning by anticipating someone's needs.
Those wishes had seemed ordinary.
They still did.
My father moved through the house, checking the rooms and making sure everything was in order.
I opened a cabinet and found a stack of old papers.
Most were unrelated to the divorce.
I left them where they were.
The property records I needed were already with Nathan.
I didn't want to turn the visit into another day spent sorting documents.
For once, I wanted to stand in a room without making a list of things that needed to be done.
My father came back from the kitchen.
"Everything looks fine."
I nodded.
"Thank you for coming with me."
He looked at me as though I had thanked him for something he would have done regardless.
"Of course."
We stood by the window for a while.
Then he asked whether I wanted to keep the property.
I considered the question carefully.
"I don't know yet."
"Then you don't have to decide yet."
That was the sort of answer I had needed for months.
Aaron had always preferred decisions that could be made quickly and presented confidently.
He liked certainty.
I had learned to give him certainty even when I was unsure.
Now, I was trying to accept that some questions deserved time.
We left the house shortly before noon.
On the drive back, my father stopped for coffee.
I ordered mine without sugar.
The cup was warm in my hands, and I thought of Nathan handing me an Americano in his office.
He had remembered a small preference from years ago.
Aaron had lived with me for three years and rarely seemed interested in the details that mattered to me unless they affected him directly.
I didn't want to turn that contrast into a judgment about every moment of our marriage.
But I couldn't ignore it anymore, either.
When I returned to my parents' house, I checked my phone.
Nathan had sent an update.
Aaron's attorneys had acknowledged the initial documents and wanted to continue reviewing the proposed settlement.
There was no final agreement.
There were no immediate answers.
There was only the next stage of the process.
I forwarded the message to my father after asking Nathan whether that was appropriate.
He said there was no need.
My father didn't need to know every legal detail.
He only needed to know that I was handling things.
That afternoon, I sat with my mother and told her about the visit to Marblehead.
I described the view from the windows and the quiet rooms.
She listened.
"Did it feel like home?"
I thought about it.
"Part of it did."
She nodded.
"That's a start."
I didn't know whether I would live there again.
I didn't know whether I wanted to keep the property exactly as it was.
For now, I was relieved that it remained a part of my life that had not been built around Aaron's preferences.
It reminded me that I had a history of my own.
Later, I opened the folder containing the financial records and checked that the property documents were still organized.
I didn't need to send anything else to Nathan.
I closed the folder and placed it in the drawer.
Then I went outside and sat on the back steps.
The air had grown colder.
I wrapped my arms around myself and watched the light fade across the yard.
My phone buzzed.
Aaron had called again.
I let it ring.
I wasn't afraid of speaking to him.
I was afraid of being drawn back into the familiar pattern in which I explained my pain and he explained why I shouldn't feel it.
I wanted our next conversation, if we had one, to take place when I could think clearly and when the purpose was understood.
Not because he was impatient.
Not because his family wanted the situation resolved.
Not because people at Prescott Global were talking.
I was allowed to take the time I needed.
When I went inside, my mother had left dinner warming on the stove.
She asked whether I wanted to eat now or later.
I told her now.
We sat together at the table.
No one had to wait for a car in the driveway.
No one had to keep a plate covered.
It was an ordinary dinner.
I had never understood how much comfort there could be in that.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: The Settlement Was Not a Battle for Aaron’s Money, but I Knew His Family Would Struggle to Understand That
The Fifth Night Changed Everything, but the Message I Sent Before Dawn Was Only the Beginning of My Decision
Part 9 of 20
