Chapter 2 Goodbye, Julian Hart

The divorce papers were still clutched in her hand when she walked through the door.

The house was quiet. It was always quiet now. It had been for months, if she was honest with herself. She'd just stopped noticing.

Marion walked through the rooms without turning on the lights. Past the living room where she'd hosted dinner parties for Julian's colleagues. Past the study where he'd spent more and more evenings, claiming work, claiming exhaustion, claiming anything that kept him away from her.

She went to the bedroom.

Her wedding ring caught the moonlight as she moved. She looked at it for a long moment—the diamond, the gold band, the promise it represented.

She pulled the ring off and set it on the nightstand beside the divorce papers.

The marriage ended before she signed anything.

She pulled a suitcase from the closet and opened it on the bed. Then she started sorting through her things.

She left behind the expensive dresses, jewelry and gifts that belonged to the life she'd built as Mrs. Julian Hart. What went into the suitcase were the things that had always been hers. Comfortable clothes, her running shoes and a few books she'd owned long before she met Julian.

Then, at the back of the closet, she found her old sketchbook.

She opened it slowly.

The drawings were rough. Amateur. But they were hers.

She'd stopped painting a few years into her marriage. It wasn't a deliberate decision or because Julian had forbidden it. She'd simply stopped making room for it. There was always something else to do: a dinner to host, an event to attend, a family gathering.

Marion closed the sketchbook and placed it in the suitcase.

Her laptop was on the desk in the corner.

She hadn't opened it in days. But now she sat down and logged into an email account she hadn't checked in weeks.

Asteria.

The inbox was fuller than she'd expected.

Messages from collectors. Inquiries from galleries and a recent email from her agent asking whether she was ready to work again.

And at the bottom was an email she'd been avoiding since she first received it weeks ago.

'The collector is still interested. He wants to know if you're ready to accept the commission.'

Marion stared at the screen.

Asteria was her painting persona and the one thing Julian had never had access to. He thought her painting was messy and amateurish. A year into their marriage, she'd moved her studio into the shed. By their third wedding anniversary, she'd stopped painting altogether, keeping Asteria alive through the paintings she'd already created.

She typed a response to her agent immediately.

'Does the collector have any requests?'

By midnight, she was done packing and the papers were still on the nightstand.

Marion brought them to the kitchen table and spread them out. She read through every page, down to the signature line at the bottom.

Then she reached the financial settlement.

The figures were substantial.

She could take the money and never worry about anything again.

But she thought about the year Julian's company couldn't make payroll and she'd given him the profits from her paintings. Not as a loan or an investment, but as a gift, because he was her husband and she believed his success was their future.

She'd believed his success was their success.

She realized now that it had never been theirs at all.

Marion picked up the pen and signed her name at the bottom of the divorce agreement.

Then she wrote a note refusing the settlement.

---

The next morning, Julian came to the house while Marion sat at the kitchen table.

He let himself in without knocking, stopping in the doorway when he saw her suitcase in the living room.

"You're leaving," he said.

"I'm leaving."

He studied her for a moment. Then he noticed the papers on the kitchen table.

"Have you signed the papers?"

"I have."

Marion checked her phone. Her ride was on the way.

He walked toward the table and picked up the agreement, going through the clauses before reaching her final note.

"You're really going to be petulant about the money?"

"I don't want it."

"Marion, that's ridiculous. It's what you're entitled to."

She looked at him and laughed without humor.

"I want you to be financially secure, Marion. We're not enemies here."

She laughed again.

"I don't want your money, Julian. You're better off spending it on your new family."

"Is that what this is about? Your self-righteousness?"

"You betrayed me, Julian," she said quietly. "After everything we've been through."

He scoffed and threw his hands up.

"Get down from your cross, Marion. We both know this marriage was over before Nadia ever came into the picture."

Her eyes widened at his words, but she took a deep breath and gathered her composure.

"I've signed your papers. I don't want your money."

"You'll regret playing the martyr."

Her phone buzzed. Her ride was here.

She picked up her suitcase.

"The only thing I regret is ever meeting you, Julian."

Marion rolled her suitcase to the front door, brushing past him as she left.

She didn't look back once as she stepped outside and closed the door behind her.

The car was waiting at the curb. The driver took her suitcase and loaded it into the trunk. She slid into the back seat.

She refreshed her email and saw a new message from her agent.

'The collector confirmed. He's very interested in the commission and he has no particular requests. When can you start?'

Marion relaxed into her seat as the car pulled away from the house.

She typed out a response.

'Now.’