Chapter 6
"Every single item listed in the complaint will be fought over in court. 950 thousand dollars? That wouldn't even cover my lawyer's retainer," I said.
Soren chuckled.
Less than an hour after we hung up, Soren messaged me again.
He texted: [Ms. Murphy, something's come up.]
I replied: [Go on.]
He said: [Macey's reached out to an online media outlet and scheduled an interview.]
I asked: [Which outlet?]
He replied: [It's called 'Her Story.' They do content about women's relationships and have over three million followers. They've already posted a teaser for the interview.]
He sent me the link.
I clicked on it.
A poster popped up.
Macey was dressed in a white sweater, her hair draped over her shoulders, hands folded in front of her, her nose tinged with red.
The headline read: [Not the Other Woman: Macey Tells Her Side of the Six-Year Story with Desmond]
In smaller print below: [Lovers torn apart by the power of a rich heiress, a first love misunderstood, a woman unfairly vilified. For the first time, Macey breaks her silence.]
I stared at that poster for a long time.
So now I was the rich heiress, huh?
She finally figured out my real status.
"Soren, she's made her move," I said.
"Ms. Murphy, should we try to stop her?" Soren asked.
"No need. Let her talk. The more she says, the more gaps she'll expose. Every word she says is just handing the court more evidence," I replied. "And one more thing. Find out who's funding the 'Her Story' account."
*****
That evening, my dad came home for dinner.
I told him about Macey's interview.
He didn't even look up and kept moving his fork.
"What did she say?" he asked.
"It hasn't aired yet. It's set for the night after tomorrow," I replied.
"Oh." He picked up a piece of ribs and chewed. "Emmaline."
"Yeah?"
"Are you scared?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because the truth doesn't need practice."
The night before the interview, I got a call from an unknown number.
The caller ID showed it was from Montavia.
I hesitated for a second and then picked up.
"Emmaline." It was Desmond.
He'd changed his number again.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"Emmaline, can we meet? I want to talk in person," he said.
"Desmond, how many numbers have you gone through now?"
"Emmaline, I'm serious. I'm not here to bargain. I just want to say a few words to you in person."
I leaned by the window, listening to the wind rustling through the laurel outside.
"What do you want to say?" I asked.
"I want to apologize," he said.
"Don't bother."
"Emmaline," he blurted out, his voice rising before he forced it back down. "I know I messed up. What happened on our anniversary... and all those years before... I shouldn't have treated you that way."
There was something in his voice I'd never heard before.
It wasn't tenderness; it was anxiety.
He was nervous.
He must've dug up something, like how big Windmere Estate really was, or the fact that someone was always chauffeuring me around, or that Soren was no ordinary attorney.
He still hadn't figured out who my dad was, but he knew something wasn't right.
So he came to apologize.
"Desmond, if you really want to make things right, do one thing," I said.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Call off Macey's interview tomorrow."
There was silence on the other end.
Five seconds passed, and he said, "That's Macey's own decision. I can't control her."
"Can't you do anything about her?" I shot back.
"Emmaline, that's her freedom. I really can't—" he started.
"Enough," I cut him off, hung up, and blocked him.
That made it five blocked numbers this week.
Mason knocked and brought in a bowl of nourishing dessert.
"Ms. Murphy, you should get some rest," he said.
"Mason, what do you think someone should do before they apologize?" I asked.
Mason set the bowl down. "You have to put down the knife you're still using to hurt someone first."
"He didn't."
"That's not an apology. He's just probing, seeing how you'll react."
He closed the door behind him as he left.
I took a sip of the sweet soup.
It was sweet. Mason remembered I'd always had a sweet tooth, even as a kid.
Everyone in this house remembered what I liked and what I didn't.
He never remembered a thing.
He didn't even remember our anniversary.
All he cared to remember were Macey's flight numbers, her favorite flowers, and her address in Montavia.
For six years, I was never even in his memories.
I finished the last mouthful of nourish dessert.
I scrolled through my phone's photo album.
There were only two photos of Desmond and me together. He hated taking pictures. Whenever I tried to snap one with him, he'd always pull a sour face.
One was taken outside the city hall on our wedding day. He had his arm around my shoulders, wearing a strained smile.
The other was after we got back to our rented apartment. I was holding a bowl of pasta, and he was standing next to me, eyes glued to his phone.
Pasta for our wedding dinner and a marriage certificate that cost 10 dollars—that was what I got for the wedding.