PART 3 — The Woman He Never Asked About
The emergency room was quiet after midnight.
Four stitches.
A mild concussion.
Bruised ribs from striking the edge of the table.
Nothing life-threatening.
The doctor asked whether I had somewhere safe to stay.
"I own my own home," I answered.
The words felt strangely comforting.
Not our home.
My home.
The following morning, I contacted a divorce attorney before I even drank my coffee.
Her first question surprised me.
"Does your husband know who your family is?"
I smiled slightly.
"No."
"My parents died when I was young."
"I don't talk about the rest."
She nodded.
"Good."
"Keep it that way for now."
That afternoon another visitor arrived.
My godfather.
Richard Lawson.
Most people knew him as the founder of one of Colorado's largest commercial development firms.
To me, he was simply Uncle Richard.
He had helped pay for architecture school after my parents passed away.
He had also quietly invested in my career.
When he saw the stitches above my ear, his face hardened.
"Who did this?"
"My husband."
He stood without another word.
"I'll handle it."
I reached for his hand.
"No."
"I'll handle it."
For the first time in years...
May you like
He smiled proudly.
"That's exactly what your mother would've said."
