I didn’t celebrate. I was far too busy confronting a far more painful realization: for nine years, I had defended Daniel, to my mother, to the board, and to senior executives who had tried to warn me that I was concentrating too much operational power in his hands. I had told myself he was merely ambitious, driven, and needed space to prove himself.
The truth was far uglier: every time Daniel crossed a line, I had simply moved the line to protect him.
During our divorce proceedings, he tried his old intimidation tactics one last time. He arrived at the mediation meeting in a bespoke suit, carrying the same arrogant confidence he had walked out of the house with weeks prior.
He sat across from me and scoffed, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Years ago, I would have spent twenty minutes trying to convince him that I wasn’t cold, explaining my feelings, trying to soften the blow so he wouldn’t feel attacked.
