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A wave of anger comes over me when I think of the kids at home alone, and Lily having woken up from a nightmare. Tears of rage fill my eyes and I blink them back, unable to find my voice.
Prisha fills in the silence for me. “How do we stick it to him?”
“If there weren’t children involved, I’d tell you to go public with everything, really let the world see his true colors,” Gloria answers. “But as it’s Harper’s goal to protect the kids from as much as possible, that means we need to use the leverage we’ve got without actively smearing Brett’s reputation. More’s the pity.”
“He deserves to be drawn and quartered,” Prisha mutters, sitting back.
“Definitely not the most satisfying strategy, but it yields the best outcome,” Gloria says. “We go to his attorney with the threat of including those incidents in the petition for divorce. Being that all documents filed with the courts become public record, his only shot at protecting what’s left of his reputation will be to agree to Harper’s terms. Harper, what’s your best guess about him fighting for joint custody?”
I swallow hard. The truth hurts like hell to voice. “I think he’d rather protect his career.”
If Gloria is shocked by this, she doesn’t let on. Instead, she says, “Ethan, thoughts?”
“I agree. I think if Harper’s reasonable about the money, Brett will be quick to give up the kids.”
I let out a sob, then cover my mouth and try to regroup. The truth of that statement breaks my heart more than anything else that has happened.
Gloria’s voice becomes gentle. “It’s so hard, I know. You had a family with him because you believed you both wanted a family.”
“Exactly,” I whisper. “And there are two innocent little people who think the world of him, who will one day realize he never fought for them.”
Prisha rubs my back while Ethan rests his hand on mine. “They’ve got you, Harper, so they’re always going to know they’re loved.”
Nodding, I sniffle and look out the window for a second. Seeing the mountains in the distance makes me wish I wasn’t going home.
“I’m going to let you go,” Gloria says. “I have enough to get started, but there will be lots of back and forth before we file. Harper, your job is to maintain a squeaky-clean image until all is said and done. That means no contact with your lumberjack.”
“That won’t be a problem,” I tell her, thinking of how much Digger must hate me. I hate myself for how I treated him.
* * *
The trip home is exhausting. It’s nearly midnight by the time we’re finally at the house. Prisha already has a team of security guards patrolling the perimeter, a fact that makes me feel simultaneously safe and sick to my stomach. How is this my life?
After getting the kids in bed, I make myself a cup of Sleepytime tea, then wander around the house while I sip it. I stare at the space that was once my refuge, my haven. But it isn’t anymore. The whole place feels foreign to me. It’s too big, too decorated, too … much. I’ve grown comfortable living in a small and simple cabin. I know the kids loved it.
When I get to the living room, the image of Brett with a bent-over Justine flashes through my mind. The first thing I need to do is get rid of that damn couch. In fact, maybe I’ll redecorate the entire house. But somehow even that doesn’t seem like enough to make this feel like my home again.
This was our family home. The place Brett and I were going to live out the rest of our lives. I was so bright-eyed and naïve, I believed every lie he ever told me.I’m sorry, Harper. I love you, Harper. This is the last time, Harper.
I need to move on, which means moving on from this place. Burning the couch will be a symbolic end for this chapter in my life.
I finally drag myself up the stairs, but instead of going to my bedroom, I walk to Lily’s. Standing in the doorway, I watch her sleep for a minute. The pressure on my chest is unbearable. Crawling into bed next to her, I smell the top of her head and immediately feel the comfort of my sweet, innocent little girl. Instead of falling to sleep, I proceed to toss and turn the night away. I think about Gamble and Brett and Digger. I think about all the choices I made that have led me to where I am now.
What would have happened if I’d never got that commercial in college? I wouldn’t have had enough money to comfortably move to LA. Would I have done it anyway? What if I’d never met Prisha? What if I’d never met Brett? What if I hadn’t been cast in the starring role ofConspiracy?
The what-if game is the enemy of sleep. One question leads to another and before you know it, you’re a tightly wound ball of anxiety. Snuggling closer to my baby, I force my brain to count my blessings. Nothing in this world would have been better than having my kids, and in order to have them, I needed Brett.
I try to be grateful for him in that regard, but the question that keeps popping in my brain is, why wasn’t I enough for him? What did all those other women have that I didn’t?
When I finally detach from reality and let my brain rest, I dream about Digger. I dream that I’m lying in his arms, safe and secure. Loved and appreciated.
Why couldn’t I have met him first?
* * *
One Month Later …
The last few weeks have been an endless cycle of meetings that I didn’t want to attend, angry calls from Brett at all hours of the day and night, and more sleepless nights than my body can tolerate. The longer this drags on, the more positive I am that I’m completely done with Hollywood.
