Part 3No Room For Your Bitter Regret

Marta nodded quietly and turned back to the stove.

After breakfast, I went upstairs, pulled on a pair of raw denim jeans and a simple sweater. I was meeting a realtor today. Before I could officially walk away from this house, I needed a place to land.

I hadn't asked for a dime in the divorce, but that didn't mean I was destitute. I had my own savings from before the marriage. And over the last three years, though I hadn't worked, the Belmonts had dutifully deposited a $20,000 monthly "allowance" into my account. I rarely touched it. I had saved enough to float myself in a nice apartment for a year or two while I figured out the rest of my life.

The realtor was a kid named Josh—sharp suit, fast talker, eager to please.

He showed me a sun-drenched two-bedroom loft in Somerville, just outside the city center. The neighborhood had a quiet, artistic pulse to it.

"Mr. Callahan, the natural light in here is incredible," Josh pitched, gesturing to the floor-to-ceiling windows. "The owner just did a full gut renovation. Everything is brand new. They're asking six and a half thousand a month. What do you think?"

I stepped out onto the Juliet balcony. The air was crisp, overlooking a neighborhood park where autumn leaves were turning gold. It wasn't massive, but it was enough.

Most importantly, there wasn't a single trace of Viola Belmont in these walls.

"I'll take it," I said.

Josh blinked, clearly not expecting me to bypass the negotiation phase entirely. Then his face broke into a massive grin. "Amazing! I'll draw up the lease with the owner right now."

I signed a one-year lease, wired the first, last, and security deposit on the spot.

Stepping out onto the pavement with the brass keys heavy in my pocket, the afternoon sun hit my face. It felt warm. For the first time in years, I felt incredibly light.

By the time I got back to Beacon Hill, Marta had stacked flattened Home Depot boxes in the center of the living room.

I was just about to head upstairs to tackle my closet when the heavy oak front door clicked open.

I didn't turn around. I could already feel the shift in the air.

Sure enough, a second later, a voice rang out behind me.

"Oh, you're home."

I turned. Patrick Giles was standing in the foyer, shucking off a designer cashmere coat.

His eyes drifted from my face down to the cardboard boxes at my feet, pausing for a fraction of a second. "Packing up?"

I didn't answer him. Instead, my voice came out flat, stripped of any emotion. "What are you doing here?"

"Viola brought me."

He strolled into the living room like he owned the place. "The lease on my loft is up, and I haven't found the right spot yet. She told me to crash here. Said I could stay as long as I need."

I simply nodded. "Oh."

Patrick clearly hadn't anticipated such a lifeless reaction. The smug little smile playing on his lips faltered.

"You don't mind, do you?" He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "I mean, I told Viola it might be a little awkward, but she insisted. She said—"

"If she told you to stay, then stay," I interrupted, my voice perfectly level. "It's a big house."

His jaw tightened. He walked over to the velvet armchair and sank into it, crossing one leg over the other.

"You are just so incredibly generous, Wesley." The venom was barely hidden now. "First you generously take my place at the altar, and now you generously let me sleep under your roof."

I looked down at him. Suddenly, I found the whole scene deeply, profoundly pathetic.

I didn't take the bait. I turned my back to him and started for the stairs.

Feeling dismissed, Patrick raised his voice. "Wesley, I'm talking to you."

I paused on the first step and looked back over my shoulder.

"I heard you. But you didn't come here to bond with me, Patrick, so let's not waste each other's time. I have packing to do."

Patrick stood up, the faux-polite smile completely vanishing from his face.

"You're leaving?" The words slipped out, laced with genuine disbelief.

"What else would I do?" I asked quietly. "Stay here and be a third wheel in my own marriage?"