Our prenuptial agreement protected my inheritance.
The house, which had been purchased mostly with my money but was jointly titled, was sold.
I took my share and bought a smaller home fifteen minutes from my parents.
Six months later, my mother invited me to dinner.
She was wearing a cream blouse.
For a moment, I stared at it, remembering red wine running down her collar while strangers laughed.
My father noticed.
“You okay?”
I smiled.
“Better than okay.”
My consulting firm had just signed its third major client.
I had also hired two former Harrington Logistics employees after the restructuring, and both told me the company was finally being managed professionally.
Daniel had taken a sales job in another state.
His father sold the vacation home to cover legal expenses and debt.
Madison was still making monthly restitution payments.
I heard that they sometimes still blamed me.
It no longer mattered.
My mother placed a glass of red wine beside my plate.
We all looked at it.
Then she raised hers.
“To five minutes,” she said.
For the first time, I laughed while remembering that night.
“No,” I replied, touching my glass to hers. “To finally knowing when five minutes is already four years too late.”
