“What happened to Chloe?”
“She cooperated with investigators,” I explained. “She returned property purchased with our money and agreed to stay away from us.”
Noah nodded.
“Good.”
Then, after another sip of hot chocolate, he added,
“I like our new house better anyway.”
I smiled.
So did I.
After the divorce was finalized, I didn’t buy some giant mansion to prove I had won.
I bought a bright three-bedroom townhouse in a quiet neighborhood close to Noah’s new school.
It had big windows.
A small garden.
A kitchen that filled with sunlight every morning.
More importantly, it felt peaceful.
I also returned to forensic accounting.
This time, however, I opened my own practice.
Within months, I was working with companies and attorneys who needed someone capable of following complicated financial trails.
Apparently, ten years away from the profession hadn’t erased what I knew.
If anything, life had made me better at it.
I opened the passenger door for Noah and helped him inside our modest sedan.
The dashboard clock showed 11:15 a.m.
Later that afternoon, I had a meeting with my legal team.
We were working on establishing a nonprofit organization designed to help parents navigating complicated divorces understand financial records and obtain professional support.
