Chapter 7 - The Divorce Damien Finally Signed Without Fighting Me
Our divorce hearing was scheduled for May.
By then, Sophie had accepted a plea agreement.
She admitted unlawful confinement, evidence tampering, identity-related offenses, and conspiracy connected to Victor's financial crimes.
She would serve time.
Not forever.
Long enough.
Before sentencing, her attorney asked whether I would provide a victim statement.
I did.
I did not ask the judge to destroy her.
I told the truth.
For three days, I believed I might die because another woman decided my fear was amusing and my life was disposable.
I also told the court that Sophie had been manipulated since childhood.
Both things could be true.
Her history deserved understanding.
Her choices required consequences.
Laura attended sentencing.
She cried.
Sophie cried.
I did not.
Afterward, Laura approached me.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not turning her into a monster.”
I looked toward the courtroom doors.
“She isn't a monster.”
Laura waited.
I continued.
“She is a person who did something monstrous.”
Laura nodded through tears.
That distinction mattered to me.
Perhaps because I was also learning to make it with Damien.
He had done cruel things.
That did not mean cruelty was the only thing inside him.
Whether that mattered to our future remained unanswered.
The university publicly corrected the false record involving me.
Blackwood Holdings released an internal report acknowledging that my complaints about Sophie had been mishandled.
Damien insisted the report name him.
I objected.
“Why?”
“Because CEO responsibility belongs to the CEO.”
“You were also my husband.”
“Exactly.”
His answer left me quiet.
The media loved the scandal.
Then grew bored.
There is always another rich family collapsing somewhere.
By spring, attention faded.
My life did not return to normal.
It became new.
I resumed a formal role at Sterling Vale.
Not ceremonial.
I chaired strategic investments and oversaw the Blackwood stake.
Working again felt like waking after a long illness.
I had forgotten how much I loved negotiations.
Research.
Numbers.
Risk.
Winning without anyone needing to be afraid.
Damien respected the professional boundary.
At work, he called me Chairwoman Vale.
I hated it.
He knew I hated it.
That was why he enjoyed it.
“Your revised logistics proposal is late, Mr. Blackwood.”
“My apologies, Chairwoman Vale.”
“Stop smiling.”
“Impossible.”
Other executives pretended not to notice.
Outside work, we barely saw each other.
That was intentional.
I needed to discover who I was without orbiting Damien.
He needed to learn who he was when nobody begged him to stay.
Therapy became weekly for him.
I began therapy too.
Not because I doubted leaving.
Because I kept waking at night convinced I was still outside.
Sometimes I could feel cold concrete against my skin even while lying in a warm bed.
My therapist called it trauma.
I called it exhausting.
Damien learned about the nightmares because I accidentally mentioned them during a board lunch.
His face went pale.
That evening, flowers arrived.
No romantic note.
Just:
You never deserved to be afraid in your own home.
D.
I kept the note.
I hated myself slightly for doing that.
One month before the divorce, Damien requested a meeting.
Not at his house.
Not Sterling Vale.
A small coffee shop where we used to meet when dating.
He sat in the same back booth.
For a second, six years disappeared.
Then I remembered who we were now.
“What did you want?”
He slid a document toward me.
I read the first page.
Full marital settlement.
I looked up.
“You're accepting everything?”
“Yes.”
“You're waiving claims against Sterling Vale?”
“Yes.”
“The Blackwood stake stays under the restructuring?”
“Yes.”
“The lake house?”
“Yours if you want it.”
“I don't.”
“Then it will be sold.”
“Why?”
“I can't live there.”
His voice changed.
“Not after the balcony.”
My chest tightened.
I continued reading.
There was no confidentiality clause.
No reputation protection.
No restriction on what I could say publicly.
No attempt to buy silence.
“You removed the nondisparagement provision.”
“Yes.”
“Your attorneys must hate you.”
“They do.”
“Why?”
“Because asking you not to tell the truth would be another form of control.”
I swallowed.
“Damien.”
“I also added something.”
A letter.
Not legal.
Handwritten.
Emily,
I spent months thinking the worst thing Sophie did was lock you outside.
It wasn't.
The worst thing she did was prove how little trust I had given you.
She could only destroy us because I made you stand alone long before that balcony.
I believed strangers over my wife.
I confused jealousy with insecurity when you were actually noticing disrespect.
I used my authority to end arguments instead of listening.
I humiliated you publicly because protecting my pride felt easier than admitting I had been wrong.
There is no version of this letter where I explain those choices enough to make them acceptable.
I am not asking you to forgive them.
I am signing the divorce because the last thing I ever want to do again is make you remain somewhere you have asked to leave.
If our marriage ends, I want the ending to contain one thing I failed to give you inside it.
Choice.
Damien
I read it twice.
My vision blurred.
Damien sat silently.
“You wrote this?”
“Yes.”
“No lawyer?”
“No.”
“It shows.”
He almost smiled.
I folded the letter.
“Do you want me to stay?”
His face changed.
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt.
“Then why aren't you asking?”
“Because wanting you and respecting you are finally two separate things in my head.”
A tear slipped down my cheek.
I wiped it away angrily.
“That's very inconvenient.”
“For me too.”
I laughed.
Then cried more.
Damien looked like he wanted to reach across the table.
He did not.
That mattered.
“I love you,” he said.
I closed my eyes.
“Don't.”
“You don't want to hear it?”
“Not if it's a request.”
“It isn't.”
I opened my eyes.
He continued.
“I love you. You don't owe me anything because of that.”
My chest hurt.
“That is possibly the first healthy thing you've ever said to me.”
“Therapy is humiliating.”
I laughed again.
The divorce hearing arrived on a rainy Monday.
David sat beside me.
Damien sat across the aisle with his attorney.
No Sophie.
No witnesses.
No family audience.
No birthday cake.
Just a judge.
The irony was almost painful.
The judge reviewed the settlement.
Asked standard questions.
Then looked at me.
“Mrs. Blackwood, are you entering this agreement voluntarily?”
“Yes.”
“Have you had independent legal counsel?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe the settlement is fair?”
I looked at Damien.
He did not look away.
“Yes.”
The judge turned to him.
“Mr. Blackwood, you understand that dissolution becomes final upon entry?”
“Yes.”
“Any request for reconciliation period?”
This was the moment.
Damien could have asked.
He didn't.
“No.”
Something inside me broke anyway.
The judge signed.
Six years of marriage ended at 11:16 a.m.
Outside the courtroom, David hugged me.
“I'll give you a minute.”
He left.
Damien remained near the windows.
No longer my husband.
The thought felt impossible.
He looked at my left hand.
I had removed the ring months earlier.
Still, today made the absence final.
“You're Emily Vale again.”
“I always was.”
Pain crossed his face.
“Yes.”
I walked closer.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
That made me smile sadly.
“Me neither.”
He nodded.
“I won't call unless it's business.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because you need space.”
“I do.”
“And I need to learn how to miss you without turning missing you into your responsibility.”
I swallowed.
“That's annoyingly mature.”
“Expensive therapy.”
I laughed.
He smiled.
For a second, we looked at each other like the people who met at the museum.
Then Damien extended his hand.
Not an embrace.
A hand.
I took it.
“Goodbye, Emily.”
My heart cracked.
“Goodbye, Damien.”
I walked away.
He did not follow.
May you like
That was how I knew he had finally changed enough for our marriage to end with dignity.
It was also the moment I began wondering whether ending the marriage truly had to mean ending every possible future between us.
