“At first, I thought Jeff bought it,” Camilla said, eyes sparkling. “He swore he didn’t. Then I remembered you telling me you’d see what you could do to help, and I realized you found the money for my dress! I can’t believe it! Thank you!”
Robert’s initial confusion morphed into something dark as his gaze met mine. “Anything for my little girl,” he said.
I watched in horror as he wrapped an arm around her back and led her toward a set of nearby chairs. I wanted to riot and break them apart. I wanted to tell everyone he was lying again. I bought that dress! I did that for her! But how could I say that much without saying the rest?
That I broke into our home and found a boat title with my name under the floorboards while he was away. Then I took it with me and sold our marital property without his knowledge or consent. And I used the money for her dress.
Alicia rubbed a palm against my shoulder blades. “This will be okay,” she whispered.
Strange. I couldn’t see how.
So I headed for the stairwell and walked away.
I didn’t open the Invisible Baker website for new sales. The feelings of defeat that followed my pretrial weighed on me more heavily every day. In the week leading up to the trip to France, I obsessed over all the things that had gone wrong, and it was impossible to stop the continuous, ugly loop. Most days I felt as if I were sliding slowly down a mountain, into darkness, or back under the water.
I went to work. I came home and I slept.
I told my coworkers nothing was wrong, and I lied to Lucas when he asked, which only made me feel worse. We’d just promised not tokeep things from one another, and I was already at it again. But I just couldn’t bring myself to voice this defeat out loud.
Still, he checked in on me before and after every shift. He sent me a countdown widget for our trip, after we exchanged phone numbers in preparation for travel, and updates on the anticipated weather.
Somehow my halfhearted responses didn’t reduce his enthusiasm.
Camilla sent texts, updating me on school, work, and wedding plans, too busy to notice I’d gone quiet. Alicia called every evening after dinner. I didn’t answer, but I texted to let her know I was fine. Ilona brought breakfast most mornings. I thanked her, but I was rarely hungry.
Raisin seemed to sense my growing depression, and he stuck by my side when I was home. We binge-watched television and napped on the couch before going to bed early. He snuggled with me for comfort and groomed my ratty hair when I cried.
Sometimes I read Mom’s notebooks and traced her messy scrawl with my fingertips. I’d spent a lifetime angry with her, not understanding that she’d been defeated, tired, and depressed. I never knew what that felt like until now. No wonder she drank and rarely left home. Forcing myself to shower before work was the worst part of my day.
I should’ve been excited about the free trip to France and the possibility of meeting my biological father, but instead, I hadn’t even packed.
I had no interest in plating food. I loved baking, but if Robert got half my company, I didn’t want the rest. Maybe that was petty, but he’d already taken everything from me, and if he took the Invisible Baker, too, it would be a hit I wouldn’t come back from. The thought stripped me of hope.
He was winning. Again. Taking. Again. And I was powerless to stop him.
Again.
My phone rang as I stared at my living room ceiling.
I rolled onto my side on the couch, dislodging Raisin from my chest. My attorney’s name and number centered the screen as I reached for the phone.
“Hi, Jill,” I said, doing my best to sound bright and cheerful.
“Hey, I wanted to call and give you an update,” she said. “I hate how pretrial ended, and I want you to know you won’t lose your business.”
I flopped onto my back again. Funny, I was just thinking about that.
I was always thinking about that.
“Your combined income between the restaurant and the LLC is still significantly less than Robert’s income,” she said. “Taking any part of the baking business would mean he’d have to pay you more in spousal support, which makes no logical or financial sense. The threat of taking half your company was a facade. Their real goal was to shake us and make you look dishonest before the judge, but don’t worry. I’ve shut them down and cleared things up. He won’t mention taking anything from you again.”
My eyes shut, too tired to fight. “What if I agree to sign the paperwork before I leave on my trip instead of waiting for trial?” I asked. “I don’t care if he keeps everything. The freedom of knowing it’s finally over will be priceless.”
The long silence that followed left me drifting. How could I still feel so tired?
“Sophie,” my attorney said, gently, patiently.
I dragged my eyes open once more.
