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“Your name was cleared years ago and yet you still left New York,” someone else asked. “Now that everything is in the open for good, any chance that you’ll come back and re-open your firm?”
“I’m about to spend my last hour in this city on the way to the airport,” he said, pulling shades over his eyes.
The throng of reporters followed him out of the courtroom, and he slipped inside the car without a second glance.
Sighing, I pulled out my phone and re-read the messages he’d sent me this morning, somewhat regretting that I didn’t respond.
Subject: NYC.
I would like to see you one last time before I leave. Can I pick you up for breakfast?
PS—I really was going to tell you everything that night…
—Andrew
Subject: Your Pussy.
This message is actually not about your pu**y. (Although, since I’m on the subject, it is number one on my list of favorite things.)
Come to breakfast with me. I’m outside your door.
—Andrew
As I was rereading that email, a new one popped onto my screen:
Subject: Goodbye.
—Andrew
I knew my lack of response was immature, that it was my fault that I didn’t get to see him before he left, but I felt as if he could’ve made more of an effort. And I still felt that he was wrong for not being open with me when he should have.
Leaving the courthouse, I headed home and thought about all the half-truths and lies that had swirled our relationship. Alyssa. His wife. My real name. His real name.
Everything we had was built on lies…
Letting tears roll down my face, I opened the door to my house, prepared to shower until I couldn’t cry anymore, but Andrew was standing in my living room.
>“Loved,” I said. “It’s past tense now, don’t you think?”
She sighed. “Please don’t leave me…”
“I won’t.” I stepped back so the guards could escort her back to the van. “I’ll write…”
“Really?” Her eyes looked hopeful as she walked away. “Okay, I look forward to your letters…I look forward to fixing us…”
The rain picked up its pace, transitioning from a drizzle to a downpour, but I remained standing—unable to walk away from Emma. I re-read her tiny tombstone, crying as her face crossed my mind.
Emma Rose Henderson,
A Daddy’s girl, through and through.
Gone too soon,
But never forgotten…
I stared at those words for hours, letting the rain drench me to the bone. It wasn’t until the director informed me that the gates were closing, that I walked away.
Lost and heartbroken, I spent the next few months in a dizzying haze. Despite the fact that Ava was the one behind bars, the paper continued spouting her lies as facts, slandering me, and I didn’t even bother disputing it.
