Chapter 8
Sofia and I painted the bedroom on a Saturday.
We started early because she promised to help at the bakery that evening. By noon, we had blue paint on our hands and more on the floor covering than on the wall.
“Mom would have corrected our technique,” Sofia said.
“She would have taken over.”
“And we would have let her.”
We laughed until I had to sit down.
It was the first time I had laughed in that room since I returned from the trip. I looked at the partly painted wall and felt a small, startling hope.
Then the doorbell rang.
Chloe stood on the porch.
I had not seen her since the night she came for her things. She wore jeans and a plain shirt. She looked nervous when I opened the door.
“I should have called,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I won't stay. I brought something for your lawyer.”
She held out an envelope.
I didn't take it yet.
“What is it?”
“Messages from Mateo about the restaurant and the house. He told me not to worry because you'd sign whatever he needed once he explained it. I kept them because I was trying to understand when he started lying to me.”
“Why bring them now?”
“His accountant asked me about the loan. I realized the messages might help show what you did and didn't know.”
“Send them to Priya,” I said. “She can decide whether they're useful.”
Chloe nodded. She put the envelope back in her bag.
“Elena, I know I acted horribly in your bedroom.”
“You did.”
“I thought he had a right to ask me there. I should have thought about you when I saw your clothes and your mother's photograph. I didn't.”
I looked at her. Her apology was clearer than the note she'd left. I still remembered the blouse flying toward my suitcase.
“I appreciate you saying it,” I replied. “Please send the messages to Priya.”
She left.
Sofia came down the stairs carrying a paint tray.
“Are you okay?”
“I will be. Let's finish the wall.”
We painted until evening. When we pulled away the floor covering, the room looked familiar and new at the same time.
I kept Mom's photograph beside the bed. I replaced the lamp Chloe had moved and hung a drawing Sofia made when she was fourteen. I stored our wedding picture in a box, along with cards I wasn't ready to sort.
A few days later, Priya called about Chloe's messages. They showed Mateo had been discussing a loan against the house before he asked for my signature. They also showed Chloe believed I was aware of the plan.
“Does it change anything?” I asked.
“It supports your account,” Priya said. “We'll use what is relevant in the negotiations.”
I thanked her and went back to work.
The firm had won the contract I traveled for. Daniel asked me to lead the new project, but he also asked whether I wanted another manager to share it.
A year earlier, I would have taken every task myself to prove I could manage. I asked for help.
“We'll do better work with two of us,” I said.
Daniel smiled.
“That was my thought too.”
It felt good to make a decision without wondering whether Mateo would need the money it brought.
At the next financial meeting, Mateo agreed to repay the amount taken from our joint account beyond the expenses we'd both approved. Some of the money he'd sent Chloe had come from funds he had earned himself. The rest had not. Priya and his attorney worked from records, not our memories.
Mateo's personal debts remained his. The house was a harder question because both our names were on it. We reviewed its value and the amount still owed.
I wanted to keep it. Mom had helped us buy it, and I had cared for it through years when Mateo poured what he earned into the restaurant. I also understood that wanting it didn't settle the figures.
We reached a plan. I would refinance it in my name if I could qualify, and Mateo would receive an agreed share after the other financial issues were accounted for. If I couldn't refinance, we'd discuss a sale.
I went straight from that meeting to the bank.
Two weeks later, the lender approved my application.
I sat in my car outside the branch and called Sofia.
“I can keep the house,” I said.
She shouted so loudly I held the phone away from my ear.
When I called Dad's old friend, Mr. Harris, who had helped Mom plant the garden years ago, he offered to fix the loose gate as a housewarming gift.
I told him I hadn't moved.
“Sometimes you make a home again while living in it,” he said.
That evening, I stood in my blue bedroom and looked at the empty half of the closet. I had kept it empty because I thought filling it would mean the marriage was truly over.
May you like
I brought in the boxes I'd stored in the guest room. They held my winter coats, books, and the quilt Mom had made. I put each thing where I wanted it.
By bedtime, the closet was full.
