My only hope is that, somehow, things with Alicia will start to feel normal again. But with Ethan... I know it won’t be easy. I don’t expect him to want to see me anytime soon, much less spend weekends in whatever place I end up calling home.
That thought alone feels like another punishment I’ve earned, because deep down, I know he probably won’t.
There’s no limit on child support. I’ll pay more than any court would require. Cecily may not want anything from me anymore, but I’ll give everything I can to our children.
The company shares remain untouched.
Jonathan and I had both added a business protection clause to our prenuptial agreements—specifically to ring-fence our shares against any future divorce. We didn’t do it because we ever imagined this happening, but because we had to protect the company’s future.
I remember when Jonathan finally proposed to Harper. Ceci and I had been married five years by then. He laughed, glass of whiskey in hand.
“If anyone’s ever going to need that clause, it’s me,” he said. “You and Cecily are the only couple that still make me believe in forever.”
Forever.
My eyes drift back to Ceci. She’s listening to her lawyers, nodding, composed. That effortless grace that once undid me now feels like a wall I’ll never cross again.
I tell my lawyer to agree to everything. No questions. No pushback.
She starts fidgeting with a pen resting on the table. Something written on it catches my attention. I narrow my eyes until I can read the inscription, engraved in elegant silver script:Cecily Sterling.
My stomach drops. My heart starts to race, beating out of rhythm. It’s how everyone will call her now. Not just on her blog, not just in her column…everywhere.
Cecily Sterling.
My palms sweat. I wipe them on my pants, trying to steady myself.
Her lawyer slides the papers toward her. She reads each page quickly, signs without hesitation. Then the documents are placed in front of me. I loosen my tie. My hand won’t move.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper, staring at the line where her signature already bleeds through in black ink. It looks like it could reach out and burn me.
“Sign the papers,” she says through clenched teeth. “That was the agreement.”
I look up at her, pleading. “Ceci, please. It won’t happen again, I swear. I can’t lose you. Please don’t do this to me.”
Tears run down my face. I don’t care who’s watching. I don’t care about the lawyers, or the assistants, or the ruin I’ve become.
“You don’t get to beg,” she says, her voice trembling, anger and grief twisted so tightly it’s hard to tell them apart. She leans forward, her finger striking the papers between us. “These were your choices, Colin.Your choicesare what brought us here. Your choices are the reason I had to sign all these papers. You did this—not me. Now act like the man I once believed you were... keep your word, sign these papers, and let me live.”
I close my eyes. Tears keep falling.
Defeated, I take the pen my lawyer holds out to me. My vision clears just enough to make out the date printed at the top of the page: March 13th, 2026.
Fitting.
I sign my name on every page, my hand shaking violently. By the time I reach the last line, a sob tears through my chest. The pen slips from my fingers.
And I flee.
I pass the elevator, too disoriented to wait for it.
I push through the door to the stairwell instead. Eighteen flights. I take them all, stumbling, breathless, half-blind, one hand on the railing, the other gripping the wall as if it could hold me together.
By the time I reach the car, my legs are shaking so hard I can barely stand.
I fall into the driver’s seat, the door slamming shut behind me, the world suddenly dead still. My forehead meets the steering wheel, and I just stay there, breathing like I'm trying to remember how.
Somewhere between a jagged breath and a sharp gasp, I start to cry. A sob that tears through bone and leaves nothing behind—no dignity, no defenses, no air left in my lungs.
