Chapter 7 - The Reckoning at the Door
Two weeks later,
Randy appeared at my office.
He didn't have his Mustang,
he didn't have his designer suit,
and he didn't have his arrogance.
He looked disheveled,
his hair greasy and his eyes bloodshot.
Security stopped him at the front desk,
but I agreed to talk to him in the lobby.
I wanted to see the man I had spent three years of my life with.
I wanted to see if there was anything left of the person I thought I loved.
He looked at me with a desperate,
pained expression.
"Sarah,
please,"
he whispered.
"The police came to the house."
"They're talking about identity theft."
"You have to tell them it was a mistake."
I stood there,
my hands in my pockets,
looking at him like he was a stranger.
"It wasn't a mistake,
Randy,"
I said.
"You stole my name,
you stole my money,
and you tried to steal my future."
"I am not going to lie for you."
He reached out to touch my arm,
but I stepped back.
"I loved you,"
he said,
the words sounding hollow and rehearsed.
"You loved the ATM,"
I countered.
"You loved the silk dresses and the expensive dinners."
"But you never loved me."
"If you had,
you wouldn't have laughed when your friends called me a pathetic puppy."
His face twisted,
the mask of desperation slipping for a second to reveal the rage beneath.
"You're destroying my life!"
he shouted,
his voice echoing in the marble lobby.
"I'm just documenting your life,
Randy,"
I said.
"You're the one who built it this way."
Security stepped in then,
moving to escort him out.
He fought them for a moment,
shouting my name,
but he was quickly overpowered.
I watched him being led through the glass doors,
out into the street where he belonged.
I didn't feel a single drop of guilt.
I felt a profound sense of relief.
The reckoning was here,
and it was just.
I went back to my desk and continued my work.
The woman who would have cried for him was gone.
The woman who remained was focused on the truth.
I realized then that Randy’s greatest gift to me was this moment.
The moment I realized I didn't need him at all.
May you like
I was enough on my own.
And I always had been.
