But inside the study, the door flew open once more, and Garrett came stumbling out, his tie undone, his eyes wild as he looked down the long corridor toward me.

“Clara!” he called out, his voice echoing under the high, arched ceiling.

I paused, my hand resting on the cold marble balustrade.

He ran toward me, his face a mixture of shock, betrayal, and a sudden, desperate hope.

“Clara, wait,” he gasped, stopping a few feet away. “Please.”

I did not move, keeping my expression neutral as the rain continued to beat against the glass behind us.

“You have nothing left to say to me, Garrett,” I said.

“The signature,” he whispered, holding up the certified copy of the divorce decree he had taken from the desk. “She really did it, didn’t she?”

I looked at the paper in his hand, then up at his eyes.

“She did,” I said.

“And the boys…” His voice broke, his gaze dropping to the floor. “They are five years old?”

“They are,” I replied.

“I didn’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I swear to you, Clara, I had no idea.”