There's a long pause. Then Gemma says, "Fine. Five minutes."
He sits down across from her, and I have to remind myself to breathe. This is part of the plan. Let him talk, let him incriminate himself, let him violate the restraining order that Shaw confirmed was processed this morning. He was able to pull a few strings and get it fast-tracked. But watching him lean across the table toward her, watching him smile at her like he has any right to be in her presence, takes everything I have not to move.
"You look good," Craig says. "Better than I expected, honestly. I was worried about you, out here all alone."
"I'm not alone."
"Right, right. Your brother and his biker friends." There's a dismissive note in his voice. "You think they can protect you? From what? We both know you don't belong in a place like this. You belong back home, with people who understand you."
"You don't understand me, Craig. You never did."
"That's not fair." His tone shifts, wounded now. "I gave you everything. A beautiful home, financial security, a life most women would kill for. And you threw it all away because of a few misunderstandings."
I've heard this script before. Different words, same poison. Make her doubt herself until she doesn't trust her own mind. I wonder how many times Gemma heard these exact words during their marriage, how many times she let herself believe them.
Not anymore.
"Misunderstandings. Is that what we're calling it now?"
"What would you call it? I loved you. I still love you. Everything I did was because I wanted to take care of you, and you were too stubborn to let me."
"You controlled every aspect of my life," Gemma says, her voice wavering just enough to sound uncertain. "At least, that's what it felt like. Maybe I was wrong."
She's baiting him. Giving him an opening to explain, to justify, to say the quiet parts out loud.
Craig takes it. "You weren't wrong. But you have to understand, I did it because I love you. Because you needed guidance. You were so lost when we met, Gemma. So directionless. I gave you structure. Purpose."
"By monitoring my phone? Telling me who I could talk to?"
"By protecting you from people who didn't have your best interests at heart." He reaches across the table, and I see her flinch but hold still. "Your family never understood you. Yourfriends were jealous of what we had. I was the only one who truly saw you."
"And the isolation? Making me quit my job?"
"You didn't need to work. I provided everything." His voice takes on an edge of impatience. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. Other people have filled your head with ideas, made you question things that made perfect sense at the time. You were happy, Gemma. We were happy."
"Were we?"
"We will be again. Once you stop listening to everyone else and remember what we had."
Craig's expression flickers, the charm slipping for just a moment. I see the coldness underneath, the calculation. "Is this what they've been telling you? Your brother and his friends? They've filled your head with all this feminist nonsense, made you think you're some kind of victim."
"I was a victim. Your victim. But I'm not going to be anyone's victim anymore."
"Gemma." His voice drops, takes on an edge that makes my muscles tense. "You need to stop this. Stop playing games and come home with me. We can work through whatever issues you think we have. I'll even do counseling if that's what you want. But this running away, this hiding behind other people, it's beneath you."
"I'm not hiding behind anyone. And I'm not coming home with you. Not now, not ever."
The silence that follows stretches taut. Craig's hands curl into fists on the table, and whatever pleasantness remained in his expression dissolves into something uglier.
"You don't get to make that decision," he says quietly. "You're my wife."
"I'm your soon to be ex-wife. I’ve filed for divorce."
"That’s just paperwork." He waves dismissively. "It changes nothing, and it sure as hell doesn't change what we are to each other. What you are to me."
"And what's that?"
"Mine."
