“This is the last time I clean up your mess, Scott. I’ll help organize a payment plan that keeps you out of prison because Michael, David, and Ava don’t deserve that shame. But after this? You’re on your own.”
The room falls silent except for the scratch of the lawyer’s pen taking notes.
Scott’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly. In twenty-five years of marriage, I never spoke to him like this. Never held him accountable without cushioning the blow with apologies and reassurances.
“The assets get liquidated,” I tell the lawyer. “All of them. We structure a payment plan based on his actual income, not his fantasy projections. And we build in consequences if he defaults.”
“Agreed,” the lawyer says, scribbling rapidly. “This is much more realistic than what Mr. Thompson initially proposed.”
An hour later, we’ve structured a workable payment plan. More importantly, I’ve done it without losing myself in the process.
“This could actually work,” the lawyer admits as we gather papers. “Assuming Mr. Thompson sticks to the schedule and doesn’t incur any additional debts.”
“I’m not betting on his following through,” I say, “if his track record is any indication, but at least we’ve set him up for success. I know one thing for certain…” I turn and spear him directly in the eye. “You won’t be getting any more help from me.”
Scott nods meekly, finally understanding that the woman who used to absorb his consequences has been replaced by someone who’ll let him face them alone.
As we leave the office, Quintus offers his arm again. “How do you feel?”
“Powerful,” I admit, surprising myself with the honesty. “And tired. But good tired.”
“You were magnificent in there. You stood firm without cruelty.”
His pride in my handling of the situation warms something in my chest that has nothing to do with sexual attraction. This is what partnership looks like—someone who celebrates your strength instead of feeling threatened by it.
Tomorrow, my children will meet him. I want their blessing, but I don’t need it. The only truth that matters is already written in my heart—I love him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nicole
The restaurant the kids chose feels like neutral territory—upscale enough to feel special but casual enough that we can talk freely. I watch my three children through the window as Quintus and I approach the entrance, and my throat constricts with the familiar mixture of pride and worry that comes with being their mother.
Michael and David are both successful men in their twenties, but I can see Scott’s influence in the careful way they’re observing Quintus. Years of watching their father manipulate and diminish people left them wary. They’re protective of me in ways that break my heart because it means they saw more of my marriage than I wanted them to.
Ava sits between her brothers, eyes bright with excitement to meet my gladiator. At eighteen, she has the confidence I was still building at twice her age, but even she looks slightly nervous about this meeting.
“The whole family,” Quintus observes quietly as we pause outside the restaurant, obviously recognizing them from the pictures I’ve shown him. “Should I be nervous?”
“Terrified,” I admit. “They’re going to want to make sure you’re not another Scott.”
“As they should. That means they love you.” The lines at the edges of his beautiful gray eyes crease as he gazes at me with affection.
His acceptance of their protective instincts settles something anxious in my chest. Scott always saw the kids’ concern for me as interference, attempts to undermine his authority. But Quintus understands it comes from love.
Inside, all three of my children stand as we approach the table. Michael is steady, David assessing, and Ava is bright as a match. My sons tower over their younger sister, but Ava commands attention despite her smaller stature. They’ve all inherited my coloring—brown hair and green eyes that miss nothing—but each carries it differently.
“Mom.” Michael pulls me into a hug. “How did the meeting with the lawyer go?”
“Long, but we worked out a payment plan that should keep your father out of prison.” I turn toward Quintus, taking a breath to calm my nerves. “Everyone, this is Quintus. He’s someone very important to me.”
The phrase feels inadequate, but safe. “Boyfriend” sounds ridiculous at my age. “Partner” might be too much too soon.
David extends his hand first, his grip firm, his expression openly assessing. “David Thompson. Thanks for helping Mom deal with Dad’s latest crisis.”
“Quintus. And it was my honor to support her.” His handshake is respectful but not overly deferential. “She handled everything with grace.”
Michael follows suit, though his smile is more cautious. “Michael. Mom mentioned you’re from the sanctuary in Missouri?”
