Chapter 7 - The Choice He Finally Gave Her
Three weeks after the agreement, Graham came into the kitchen carrying a folder.
Natalie was making coffee.
He placed it on the table.
“What’s this?”
“Read it.”
She opened the folder.
Divorce papers.
Signed by Graham.
Behind them was the deed to a small restored house in Greyhaven’s east end.
Her name only.
Then an account statement.
Enough money that she would never have to ask the Vance family for anything again.
Natalie looked up.
Graham remained standing.
“You think I’m leaving?”
“I think you should have the ability to.”
She stared at him.
“You didn’t choose everything that came with me.”
“I chose you.”
“You chose a version of me.”
His voice roughened.
“The quiet version. The version who sat where I told her it was safe. The version who stopped doing work she loved because my life made it inconvenient.”
Natalie closed the folder.
“I never told you I wanted a divorce.”
“No.”
Graham pulled out a chair but did not sit.
“That’s why the choice has to belong to you.”
She watched him carefully.
“If you want the house, it’s yours. If you want to go back to the hospital, you go. If you want your maiden name back, take it. If you want to leave me, those papers mean I cannot trap you with money, property, or family pressure.”
His eyes dropped.
“I spent three years telling myself that keeping you at a distance was love.”
He looked at her again.
“It wasn’t.”
“What was it?”
“Fear with better clothes.”
Natalie was silent.
Graham continued.
“I don’t know how to do this correctly.”
“That might be the first intelligent thing you’ve said all month.”
A weak smile touched his mouth.
Then disappeared.
“I can learn.”
Natalie opened the folder again.
She read every page.
Graham waited.
When she finished, she stood.
Walked to the stove.
Turned on the burner.
Graham frowned.
“Natalie.”
She held the divorce papers above the flame.
They caught at one corner.
“Natalie.”
She dropped them into the sink.
Graham stared as the paper curled black.
“The house stays in my name,” she said.
“Yes.”
“The account stays mine.”
“Yes.”
“I go back to work.”
“Yes.”
“Two shifts a week to start.”
“Anything.”
She turned.
“I use Mercer on my hospital badge.”
His face changed, but he nodded.
“Natalie Mercer.”
“That was my name for thirty-two years before I became Mrs. Vance.”
“I know.”
“You know now.”
“Yes.”
She stepped closer.
“And Sunday lunches.”
He waited.
“I sit beside you.”
“Always.”
“Not because you’re displaying me.”
“No.”
“Not because you’re guarding me.”
“No.”
“Because I’m your wife.”
Graham’s answer was barely audible.
“Yes.”
Natalie studied him.
“One more condition.”
“Anything.”
She pointed toward a small medical box on the counter.
“The tape gets changed tonight.”
He looked at her eyebrow.
“I’ll call someone.”
“No.”
She pulled out a chair.
“You’re learning.”
Graham Vance, a man who could make entire rooms fall silent simply by entering them, sat at his own kitchen table while his wife taught him how to clean a wound.
His hands were unexpectedly unsteady.
“Slow,” Natalie said.
“I am going slow.”
“You’re pulling.”
“I’m barely touching you.”
“You negotiate with dangerous men for a living and medical tape is defeating you.”
“They don’t have eyebrows.”
Natalie laughed.
Graham stopped.
There it was again.
That sound.
He smiled despite himself.
“Keep laughing and I’m charging for this.”
“You don’t know my blood type without looking at your phone.”
“O negative.”
She paused.
He met her eyes.
“O negative. Coffee with oat milk, one sugar when you’re tired, none when you’re angry. You hate roses because they smell like funeral homes. You sleep on your left side unless your shoulder hurts. You pretend you don’t like old game shows and then answer every question from the hallway.”
Natalie stared at him.
Graham swallowed.
“I’m learning.”
Something in her face softened.
“Clean work,” she whispered when he finished replacing the tape.
May you like
He pressed his forehead gently against hers.
Neither spoke for a long time.
