Chapter 22 - The DivorceThe divorce ended eleven months after the hospital.
There was no dramatic trial.
No final screaming match.
Just negotiations, disclosures, valuations, and signatures.
Allison kept her inherited interest in Grant Medical Properties.
The marital home was sold.
Certain investment accounts were divided.
Derek’s unexplained transfers and affair-related spending affected the final financial settlement.
He agreed to return part of the disputed joint funds.
The company’s claims remained separate from the marriage.
When the decree was entered, Allison sat beside her attorney.
Derek appeared remotely due to the conditions surrounding his criminal case.
The judge asked whether both parties understood the terms.
“Yes,” Derek said.
“Yes,” Allison answered.
That was it.
Nine years ended with two syllables.
Outside the courthouse, Allison expected to feel free.
Instead, she felt quiet.
Mara joined her.
“You okay?”
“I think so.”
“That sounded uncertain.”
“It’s strange.”
“What?”
“I spent months wanting this day.”
“And?”
“It doesn’t return the woman who walked into that hospital.”
Mara looked at her.
“Maybe that’s good.”
Allison thought about it.
The woman who entered St. Vincent carrying lunch believed loyalty was something already proven.
She believed marriage history guaranteed marriage reality.
She believed helping family meant understanding family.
She had been loving.
But also certain.
Certainty had cracked.
In its place was something less comfortable and more honest.
Discernment.
That evening, Allison went to Wellington Medical Plaza.
The lobby was nearly empty.
Thomas Grant’s photograph hung beside the original architectural rendering.
She stood beneath it.
“You were right about him,” she whispered.
Then she added:
“But you were wrong not to tell me.”
The words mattered.
Allison had spent months idealizing her father because Derek had attacked his memory.
Now she could hold a more complicated truth.
Thomas saw Derek’s ambition.
Thomas also avoided a painful confrontation with his daughter.
That silence had consequences.
Love did not excuse cowardice.
Not Derek’s.
Not Camille’s.
Not Thomas’s.
Not Allison’s own.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Camille.
Divorce final?
Allison typed:
Yes.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
I’m sorry.
Allison looked at the words.
For the first time, she believed Camille understood what she was apologizing for.
Not one affair.
Not one invoice.
A collapse of trust.
Allison wrote:
I know.
Then she smiled at the irony.
Camille called.
“Did you just say ‘I know’?”
“Yes.”
“That’s my line.”
“Maybe I stole it.”
A small silence.
Then both sisters laughed.
Not long.
Not comfortably.
But honestly.
Camille said, “My probation officer approved the new job.”
“What job?”
“Junior project coordinator for a nonprofit housing group.”
“That sounds good.”
“It pays about half what I used to make.”
“You mean half what you used to pretend your company made.”
Camille laughed again.
“Fair.”
Allison sat on a bench.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
The answer surprised her.
Camille continued.
“But I’m getting better at not turning ‘not okay’ into someone else’s problem.”
Allison looked at her father’s photograph.
“That’s useful.”
“I have therapy tomorrow.”
“Good.”
A pause.
“Allie?”
Allison did not correct the nickname.
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Do you think we’ll ever be sisters again?”
Allison looked through the glass doors at Wellington’s parking lot.
“We never stopped being sisters.”
Camille inhaled.
Allison continued.
“But I don’t know what kind.”
“I understand.”
There were those words again.
This time Allison let them stand.
After the call, she walked outside.
For the first time since the hospital, the future did not feel like a legal problem waiting to be solved.
May you like
It felt unknown.
And unknown no longer terrified her.
