He had an appointment with Dr. Thorne at noon, and a meeting with a headhunter at two. He had to figure out how to untangle his equity from Lumière Events without triggering a catastrophic legal battle with David, but his brain refused to process the logistics.
"You need to eat something," Kathryn said, walking into the kitchen and setting a plate of dry toast on the table in front of him. "You look like you haven't slept in a month."
"I'm not hungry, Mom," Simon rasped, rubbing a heavy hand over his exhausted face.
"Simon, starving yourself in my kitchen is not an acceptable form of penance," Kathryn retorted sharply, takingthe seat across from him. "You have to function. You have to build a life from this, or it will swallow you whole."
Before Simon could argue, the sharp, authoritative chime of the front doorbell echoed through the house.
Kathryn frowned, glancing at the clock on the stove. "I'm not expecting anyone."
"I'll get it," Simon said. He welcomed the distraction, pushing back from the table and walking heavily down the hallway.
He pulled the front door open.
Standing on the porch was a man in his late forties, wearing a windbreaker and a completely bored expression. He held a thick, manila envelope in his hand.
"Simon?" the man asked, glancing down at a clipboard.
"Yes," Simon replied, his pulse giving a sudden, erratic kick.
"I have a delivery for you. I just need a signature right here confirming you're the recipient," the man said, holding out a pen and the clipboard.
Simon stared at the pen. The air in the foyer suddenly dropped ten degrees. The instinct of a man who had spent a decade navigating high-stakes corporate contracts and crisis management recognized the exact shape and weight of the moment. His hand trembled slightly as he took the pen and scrawled his name on the designated line.
"Thank you," the man said, ripping off the pink carbon copy and handing the heavy envelope to Simon. "You've been served. Have a good day."
The man turned and walked back to his idling sedan.
Simon stood perfectly still in the open doorway, the cold morning air washing over him. The envelope in his hands feltimpossibly heavy, as if it contained lead instead of paper. He didn't need to open it. He knew exactly what it was.
"Simon? Who was it?" Kathryn called from the kitchen.
He slowly pushed the front door shut, the latch clicking with a devastating finality. He walked back into the kitchen like a man walking to the gallows, dropping the thick envelope onto the center of the wooden table.
In the upper left corner, stark black letters read: Smith & Harrington: Family Law.
Kathryn looked at the envelope, then up at her son. All the sharp, maternal authority drained from her face, leaving behind a profound, quiet sorrow.
"Open it," Kathryn said softly.
Simon’s fingers were numb as he tore the sealed flap. He pulled out the thick stack of premium, watermarked paper. The harsh, legal font blurred in his vision, but the title at the top of the first page was agonizingly clear.
Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.
"She didn't wait," Simon whispered, the words scraping out of his dry throat. He dropped the papers onto the table as if they were burning his skin. "I thought... I thought we would go to counseling. I thought we would have a separation period. She filed it. It's real."
"Of course it's real, Simon," Kathryn said, her voice a gentle, breaking sound. She reached across the table, placing her hand firmly over his trembling fingers. "What did you expect? Audrey is a woman of action. She maps the damage, and she amputates to save the rest of the body."
"I can't sign this," Simon choked out, panic rising like a tidal wave in his chest, entirely suffocating him. He stared at the bold, slashing ink of Audrey’s signature on the final page—theundeniable proof that she had severed him completely. "Mom, I can't let her go. I have to call her. I have to talk to her."
He reached frantically for his phone, but Kathryn’s hand shot out, gripping his wrist with surprising, iron-like strength.
"No," Kathryn commanded, her dark eyes flashing with absolute authority. "You will not call her. You will not disrupt her peace because you are drowning in your own consequences."
"She is my wife!" Simon shouted, the sudden, feral desperation tearing from his throat.
"Not anymore," Kathryn countered, her voice dropping to a fierce, unrelenting whisper. "You made sure of that in a hotel room, Simon. She has drawn a boundary. She has hired an attorney. If you truly love her, if you have one shred of respect left for the mother of your child, you will not fight this. You will let her heal."
