Chapter 10
I returned to work in September.
Not at the Cole Foundation.
At Bellamy.
My old foundation.
I expected the interview to be humiliating.
Instead, the director, Miriam Chen, looked at my résumé and said, “You’ve spent seven years managing philanthropy, donor networks, events, and board relationships.”
“For my husband’s family.”
“That still counts as work.”
I blinked.
Nobody had said that to me before.
Not even me.
She hired me as director of strategic partnerships.
On my first morning, I sat in my car for ten minutes before going inside.
My hands trembled.
I was afraid I had forgotten how to be competent.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from the family group chat.
**Dominic:** You’ve got this.
**Matteo:** Don’t tell her that. It creates pressure.
**Gabriel:** Statistically, prior experience suggests—
**Luca:** Nobody asked for statistics.
**Nico:** Bruno says don’t embarrass him.
I laughed so loudly the woman parking beside me looked concerned.
I went inside.
The first day was difficult.
So was the second.
By the fourth week, I stopped checking whether people approved before speaking in meetings.
By the third month, I negotiated a seven-figure partnership that funded arts programs across twelve schools.
When Miriam congratulated me, I said thank you.
I did not say I was lucky.
That mattered.
—
Sophie came to dinner one Sunday in November.
At first, everyone was awkward.
She had grown up inside the Cole family.
My brothers had spent months instinctively treating every Cole as a potential problem.
But Sophie arrived carrying two pies and immediately insulted Luca’s parking.
By dessert, Matteo was arguing with her about soccer.
By coffee, Nico had persuaded her to help hide Gabriel’s phone because he kept checking work emails.
Family relationships, I discovered, rarely heal through grand declarations.
Sometimes they heal because someone brings pie.
Later, Sophie and I washed dishes.
“Dad asks about you,” she said.
“Richard?”
She nodded.
“How is he?”
“Different.”
“Good different?”
“Uncomfortable different.”
I smiled.
“That might be better.”
“He’s stepping away from daily operations permanently.”
“I heard.”
“He and Mom are having problems.”
I paused.
“I’m sorry.”
“Mom thinks everyone abandoned her.”
“That must be difficult.”
Sophie looked at me.
“You’re allowed to be angry with her.”
“I am.”
“You never sound angry.”
“I don’t have to perform it for it to be real.”
She considered that.
“I like that.”
We washed another plate.
Then she said, “Adrian is moving.”
“Where?”
“Chicago.”
I felt a small pull inside my chest.
Not pain exactly.
Memory.
“He accepted a position with another company.”
“Good for him.”
Sophie watched me.
“You mean that.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
I dried my hands.
“Because wanting him to have a miserable life would still make his life part of mine.”
She was silent.
Then she nodded slowly.
“I think I understand.”
“So do I,” I said. “Finally.”
—
The divorce became final eleven months after my birthday.
Luca offered to come with me to the courthouse.
I declined.
Then I changed my mind.
Then I declined again.
In the end, all five brothers came anyway.
Not inside.
They waited across the street at a café.
When I emerged holding a thin folder, I saw them through the window pretending not to watch.
I crossed the street.
Nico stood.
“Well?”
“It’s done.”
Nobody cheered.
Thank God.
Dominic simply pulled out a chair.
Matteo pushed a cup toward me.
“Tea.”
“I wanted coffee.”
“You’ve already had three.”
“How do you know?”
“Gabriel tracks everything.”
Gabriel looked offended.
“I do not track Elena’s caffeine.”
Luca sat down.
“He absolutely tracks your caffeine.”
I looked around the table.
Five men who had spent years believing their job was to protect me from every difficult thing.
And one woman who had spent years believing loving them meant never becoming one.
We were all learning.
Slowly.
Imperfectly.
Together.
I lifted the tea.
“To boundaries.”
Matteo grimaced.
“That is an extremely depressing toast.”
“To Bruno,” Nico suggested.
“No.”
“To Mom and Dad,” Dominic said.
That quieted us.
We raised our cups.
May you like
“To Mom and Dad.”
—
