Chapter 9 - THE WOMAN I USED TO BE
Returning to nursing wasn't as simple as putting on my old scrubs.
My license was current, but I'd been away from direct patient care for years.
I needed refresher training.
Updated certifications.
Clinical competency assessments.
And the humility to admit that medicine had changed while I'd been balancing restaurant accounts.
I enrolled in a hospital reentry program.
On my first day, I stood outside the training center for ten minutes.
I was thirty-seven years old.
I had once managed emergency situations with complete confidence.
Now I was afraid of walking into a classroom.
Then a woman beside me smiled.
“First day?”
I nodded.
“Me too.”
She held out her hand.
“Dana.”
“Rebecca.”
“Career change?”
“Career return.”
Dana grinned.
“Even better.”
For the first time in weeks, someone looked at me without knowing anything about the wedding.
I wasn't the betrayed wife.
I wasn't the woman from the viral video.
I was Rebecca.
That mattered more than I expected.
The business dispute continued.
Our accountants identified additional irregularities.
Some records contradicted others.
Several vendor invoices appeared altered.
The disputed personal guarantee remained under review.
Owen's attorney proposed a settlement.
I would relinquish my interest in the restaurant group.
In exchange, Owen would assume certain business debts and pay me a fixed amount over five years.
Allison placed the proposal in front of me.
“What do you think?”
I read it twice.
Then I looked up.
“He's offering me less than the documented value of my shares.”
“Yes.”
“And asking me to release claims connected to the questionable transactions?”
“Yes.”
I pushed the papers away.
“No.”
Allison nodded.
“I agree that the release language is a serious concern.”
I looked at the window.
For years, I'd accepted whatever arrangement made Owen's life easier.
I was finished doing that.
Meanwhile, Lucas was dealing with his own crisis.
Two clients had suspended projects after hearing about the financial investigation.
His employees were frightened.
His reputation was being questioned.
One afternoon, he called.
“I wanted you to know something before you hear it elsewhere.”
“What?”
“Camille moved out.”
I was quiet.
“Are you okay?”
He laughed softly.
“That's a complicated question.”
“I understand.”
“She says she never stopped loving me.”
I closed my eyes.
“Owen said something similar.”
Lucas was silent.
Then he said, “I keep wondering if I missed something obvious.”
I looked down at my hands.
“I think that's what betrayal does. It makes you suspicious of your own memories.”
“Exactly.”
We stayed on the phone for almost an hour.
We talked about practical things.
Lawyers.
Business insurance.
The exhausting process of explaining a private disaster to people who had only heard the public version.
We didn't flirt.
We didn't make promises.
When the conversation ended, I felt less alone.
Two days later, Owen called from an unfamiliar number.
I answered because I thought it might concern an employee.
“Rebecca.”
I closed my eyes.
“What is it?”
“I need your help.”
“With what?”
“The bank is freezing our credit line.”
I sat down.
“What happened?”
“They found the Second Harvest documents.”
I said nothing.
“Suppliers are threatening to stop deliveries.”
“Then you need to speak with the managers and the bank.”
“Becca, you know how to fix this.”
The old instinct rose immediately.
Find the problem.
Make a spreadsheet.
Call the lender.
Negotiate terms.
Save everyone.
Then I remembered the letter.
Sometimes I think it would be easier if you found out and made the decision for both of us.
I took a breath.
“Owen, I will cooperate through the proper channels to protect the employees and my ownership interest.”
“Thank God.”
“But I am not coming back to manage your crisis.”
Silence.
“Rebecca, seventy-one people depend on us.”
“I know. That's why the business needs transparent management, not another secret arrangement.”
His voice hardened.
“So you're just going to watch everything collapse?”
I looked at the hospital training manual on my desk.
“No.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“I'm finally refusing to confuse saving the business with saving you.”
May you like
I ended the call.
And this time, I didn't cry.
