In the hallway afterward, Harold called out behind me.
“Jamie. Wait.”
I turned slowly.
His tie was loosened, his confidence gone.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said bitterly. “You ruined my reputation.”
I held his gaze.
“No. You just never thought I would.”
He had nothing left to say.
I looked past him at Laura, still wearing my scarf.
“Congratulations, sister,” I said calmly. “You can have him. Just wait until he decides you’re not enough too.”
She said nothing.
Outside, all four of my children were waiting.
Not one of them looked at Harold.
For 29 years, he made sure I had nowhere to go.
He just forgot one thing—
He never realized how far I could go.
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