Chapter 7
I sold the Boston estate a month later.
I sold everything in it, too.
The furniture.
The art.
The wedding photos.
All of it.
I donated half the money to a children’s safety charity.
The other half I put in a trust fund for Lila.
I bought a small, cozy house in the suburbs, twenty minutes outside the city.
It had a white picket fence, a big backyard, and a treehouse in the old oak tree.
It was nothing like the cold, fancy estate.
It was perfect.
Lila moved in with me full time.
Her mom had come back from out of state, but she’d gotten a job offer in California.
She couldn’t take Lila with her.
She’d sat down with me one night, crying.
“I can’t give her the life she deserves,” she’d said. “She’s safe with you. She’s happy with you. I want you to have custody. Full custody.”
We’d gone to court a week later.
The judge signed the papers.
I was Lila’s legal guardian.
The first night in the new house, we ordered pizza and watched movies on the floor of the living room.
Lila fell asleep halfway through the second movie, her head in my lap.
I stroked her hair.
For the first time since Olivia’s arrest, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I went back to work a week later.
I’d taken three months off to deal with the trial.
My company had suffered.
Olivia’s embezzlement had left a big hole in the finances.
But my team was loyal.
They worked day and night to get us back on track.
Within six months, we were bigger and stronger than ever.
I donated a large wing to the local children’s hospital.
I started a scholarship fund for kids who’d witnessed violence.
I wanted to turn the worst thing that ever happened to me into something good.
But there was still a hole in my life.
A big, empty space.
I had Lila.
I had my friends.
I had my work.
But I was lonely.
I’d tried dating a few times.
Setups from friends.
Apps.
But every time I sat across from a woman at dinner, all I could see was Olivia’s face.
All I could hear was her voice, saying it was always about the money.
I didn’t trust anyone.
I didn’t know how to.
Then, at the opening of the children’s hospital wing, I met her.
Clara Bennett.
She was a social worker who ran the program for at-risk kids.
She was in her early thirties, with curly brown hair and big green eyes.
She laughed a lot.
And when she laughed, her whole face lit up.
She didn’t know who I was.
She didn’t know about the trial.
She didn’t know about the money.
She just talked to me like I was a normal guy.
We talked for an hour at the reception.
About the kids.
About the program.
About how much we both hated small talk.
When she had to leave, she gave me her card.
“Call me sometime,” she said. “If you want to talk more. Or if you want to volunteer with the program. We can always use extra hands.”
I held the card in my hand for a long time after she left.
I was scared.
Scared to trust again.
Scared to let someone new in.
But that night, Lila saw the card on the kitchen counter.
She picked it up and read the name.
“Clara,” she said, grinning. “Is she your girlfriend?”
I laughed.
“No, kiddo. She’s just a friend.”
Lila rolled her eyes.
“Sure she is,” she said. “You should call her. She looks nice. Nicer than Olivia.”
I looked at the card again.
Clara Bennett.
May you like
Maybe Lila was right.
Maybe it was time to take a chance.
