Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN I USED TO BE
Olivia Chen offered me a job in April.
Remote contract administrator.
Part-time initially.
Flexible hours.
A salary that made me cry when I saw the offer letter.
Not because it was enormous.
Because it was mine.
I accepted immediately.
My first project involved reviewing contracts for a community housing development.
I spent mornings at the kitchen table with a laptop, a cup of tea, and a notebook filled with questions.
At first, I was rusty.
I checked everything twice.
Sometimes three times.
But gradually, the work returned to me.
The language.
The logic.
The satisfaction of finding a missing clause before it became a problem.
One afternoon, Olivia called.
"Emma."
I smiled.
"Hi."
"I reviewed your latest work."
My stomach tightened.
"Was something wrong?"
She laughed.
"No."
I exhaled.
"It was excellent."
My eyes filled.
"Really?"
"Really."
She paused.
"You're good at this, Emma."
I looked down.
For five years, I'd been told I was useful.
Efficient.
Reliable.
A good wife.
But nobody had said I was good at something that belonged to me.
I swallowed.
"Thank you."
The pregnancy progressed normally.
I attended appointments.
Took walks along the river.
Read books about childbirth and parenting.
And slowly transformed the upstairs bedroom into a nursery.
I painted the walls a soft cream.
Bought a secondhand rocking chair.
Hung small wooden stars above the crib.
One afternoon, I found myself singing while folding tiny clothes.
I stopped.
The sound surprised me.
I hadn't sung freely in years.
At the Moretti estate, I'd kept the house quiet.
Now I sang whenever I wanted.
Sometimes badly.
Sometimes loudly.
Always happily.
Dominic continued sending messages through Rebecca.
He asked about the pregnancy.
Offered to pay medical expenses.
Requested information about appointments.
Rebecca helped establish a practical arrangement that respected my privacy while allowing him appropriate updates.
I didn't want to punish him by hiding our child.
But I also refused to let pregnancy become a reason to surrender my independence.
One evening, I received a small package.
Inside was a children's book.
No jewelry.
No expensive gift.
Just a book.
A handwritten note accompanied it.
For our baby.
I don't know whether you'll want me to read to them someday.
But I hope I get the chance.
Dominic
I sat at the kitchen table holding the book.
Then I cried.
Not because I wanted to return.
May you like
Because I could see the man Dominic might have been.
And I mourned the marriage we could have had if he'd chosen honesty before losing me.
