Chapter 5 · Divorced, Not Defeated

Sunbeams had danced across Jeromy's face as he eyed me warily, tension in every glance, like he braced for me to bolt.

Yet here we were, just seven years later...

Changed beyond recognition—both us and everything between.

I picked up the nearby glass of milk and took a gentle sip before replying, "You can have your lawyer dissect it clause by clause. If something feels off, feel free to draft a new one from scratch.

"But those two conditions of mine? Non-negotiable."

Jeromy grabbed the divorce papers and stood up.

"I don't need you schooling me on my business. If the doc checks out, besides the 17 million dollars, I'll throw in this house. Just knowing you've infested the place for seven years makes me queasy."

I bit my lower lip hard until the coppery taste of blood spread through my mouth.

The house clocked in at around 13 million dollars market value.

Whatever.

If it disgusted him, fine.

"Barbra...

His voice sounded distant, like it was drifting in from another room.

"This go-around, I don't want to hear about you backing out halfway."

My head throbbed painfully, every word stuck in my dry throat.

After what felt like an eternity, I managed a weak "Sure" as acknowledgment.

Breakfast lost all appeal.

I dumped the remnants in the kitchen compost bin.

Jeromy had always been ruthlessly efficient.

First thing the next morning, his assistant arrived with the updated divorce agreement.

He handed over the documents. "Ms. Patterson, Mr. Santos's already signed. Just review and add your signature when you're set."

I took them and flipped through carefully.

Reaching the asset division page.

On top of the agreed 17 million dollars and the house I occupied, there was a handwritten addition of another 3 million dollars.

Seeing me linger on that line, the assistant explained, "Mr. Santos specified that this 3 million dollars is from Ms. Rivas—to compensate for the damage to your left ear's hearing."

I let out a mirthless laugh.

So he actually remembered the time Bridget whacked me hard enough to perforate my eardrum.

That day, once the ambulance carted Bridget off, I finally noticed the persistent ringing in my left ear, coupled with a lingering ache.

A trip to the hospital confirmed the ruptured eardrum.

The doctor said it could result in lasting hearing loss.

I reported it to the police afterward.

But between the production's liability waiver I'd signed, the fact that I'd slapped Bridget in return, and Jeromy's behind-the-scenes maneuvering, it got classified as a "filming accident."

The settlement? Bridget paid my medical costs and some nominal emotional damages—65 thousand dollars in all.

But the impairment to my left ear's hearing? Irreversible.

"Ms. Patterson?"

The assistant's voice yanked me back from the memory.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth in a wry smile, took the pen from him, and signed my name with a swift stroke.

"Then convey my thanks to Mr. Santos."

I passed him back his copy. "And tell him: Monday, ten a.m. sharp, outside the city hall—be there or be square."

That night, I sat alone on the balcony, gazing blankly at the scattered lights twinkling in the distance.

A dull, muffled throb pulsed in my left ear.

It was like someone had stuffed it full of cotton, sealing off the world.

My dad Darwin Patterson called out of nowhere—someone I hadn't talked to in forever.

He mentioned how long it'd been since we'd caught up and suggested I drop by the house sometime.

I was tempted to say no.

But sickness had a way of making you feel extra vulnerable.

I caught myself clinging to a silly shred of hope for someone who didn't deserve it.

So, I said yes.

Darwin got remarried just a year after Mom died.

The day before the ceremony, he held me tight as we sat by her grave, tears streaming down his face.

"Barbra," he said, "I know Mommy was your whole world. But she's not here anymore. What if we let Geneva step in and love you like she did?

"Don't worry—while I'm around, nobody's going to mess with you."

I was just seven at the time.

I had no clue how everything shifted with the years.

Or that once he and Geneva had their own daughter, I'd be out of the picture for good.

Laughter spilled out from the living room as I walked through the front door.

Carrie Patterson was waving her arms around, spinning some tale, while Darwin and Geneva sprawled on the couch, cracking up.

They all whipped around at the noise from the entryway.

The second they saw me, their grins froze solid.

As I witnessed this cozy little family vibe, a stab of pain hit my chest, no matter how hard I tried to shrug it off.

Darwin snapped out of it first.

He got up awkwardly, forcing a polite, arms-length smile.

"Barbra's home! Geneva whipped up all your favorites—she's been dying for you to get here."

I glanced over at the dining table where he was pointing.

It was quite the feast, all right.

Not a thing on it I could eat, though.

Chapter 5

Sunbeams had danced across Jeromy's face as he eyed me warily, tension in every glance, like he braced for me to bolt.

Yet here we were, just seven years later...

Changed beyond recognition—both us and everything between.

I picked up the nearby glass of milk and took a gentle sip before replying, "You can have your lawyer dissect it clause by clause. If something feels off, feel free to draft a new one from scratch.

"But those two conditions of mine? Non-negotiable."

Jeromy grabbed the divorce papers and stood up.

I bit my lower lip hard until the coppery taste of blood spread through my mouth.

The house clocked in at around 13 million dollars market value.

Whatever.

If it disgusted him, fine.

"Barbra...

His voice sounded distant, like it was drifting in from another room.

"This go-around, I don't want to hear about you backing out halfway."

My head throbbed painfully, every word stuck in my dry throat.

After what felt like an eternity, I managed a weak "Sure" as acknowledgment.

Breakfast lost all appeal.

I dumped the remnants in the kitchen compost bin.

Jeromy had always been ruthlessly efficient.

First thing the next morning, his assistant arrived with the updated divorce agreement.

He handed over the documents. "Ms. Patterson, Mr. Santos's already signed. Just review and add your signature when you're set."

I took them and flipped through carefully.

Reaching the asset division page.

On top of the agreed 17 million dollars and the house I occupied, there was a handwritten addition of another 3 million dollars.

Seeing me linger on that line, the assistant explained, "Mr. Santos specified that this 3 million dollars is from Ms. Rivas—to compensate for the damage to your left ear's hearing."

I let out a mirthless laugh.

So he actually remembered the time Bridget whacked me hard enough to perforate my eardrum.

That day, once the ambulance carted Bridget off, I finally noticed the persistent ringing in my left ear, coupled with a lingering ache.

A trip to the hospital confirmed the ruptured eardrum.

The doctor said it could result in lasting hearing loss.

I reported it to the police afterward.

But between the production's liability waiver I'd signed, the fact that I'd slapped Bridget in return, and Jeromy's behind-the-scenes maneuvering, it got classified as a "filming accident."

The settlement? Bridget paid my medical costs and some nominal emotional damages—65 thousand dollars in all.

But the impairment to my left ear's hearing? Irreversible.

"Ms. Patterson?"

The assistant's voice yanked me back from the memory.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth in a wry smile, took the pen from him, and signed my name with a swift stroke.

"Then convey my thanks to Mr. Santos."

I passed him back his copy. "And tell him: Monday, ten a.m. sharp, outside the city hall—be there or be square."

That night, I sat alone on the balcony, gazing blankly at the scattered lights twinkling in the distance.

A dull, muffled throb pulsed in my left ear.

It was like someone had stuffed it full of cotton, sealing off the world.

My dad Darwin Patterson called out of nowhere—someone I hadn't talked to in forever.

He mentioned how long it'd been since we'd caught up and suggested I drop by the house sometime.

I was tempted to say no.

But sickness had a way of making you feel extra vulnerable.

I caught myself clinging to a silly shred of hope for someone who didn't deserve it.

So, I said yes.

Darwin got remarried just a year after Mom died.

The day before the ceremony, he held me tight as we sat by her grave, tears streaming down his face.

"Barbra," he said, "I know Mommy was your whole world. But she's not here anymore. What if we let Geneva step in and love you like she did?

"Don't worry—while I'm around, nobody's going to mess with you."

I was just seven at the time.

I had no clue how everything shifted with the years.

Or that once he and Geneva had their own daughter, I'd be out of the picture for good.

Laughter spilled out from the living room as I walked through the front door.

Carrie Patterson was waving her arms around, spinning some tale, while Darwin and Geneva sprawled on the couch, cracking up.

They all whipped around at the noise from the entryway.

The second they saw me, their grins froze solid.

As I witnessed this cozy little family vibe, a stab of pain hit my chest, no matter how hard I tried to shrug it off.

Darwin snapped out of it first.

He got up awkwardly, forcing a polite, arms-length smile.

"Barbra's home! Geneva whipped up all your favorites—she's been dying for you to get here."

I glanced over at the dining table where he was pointing.

It was quite the feast, all right.

Not a thing on it I could eat, though.