Chapter 10: The Final Goodbye

When tears fell on the back of my hand, another text came in. I thought Ashley Monroe had found a new way to torment me. My finger hovered over the block button.

Opening it, it was from Mrs. Thompson:

“Mrs. Harrison, come back to the family house for dinner tomorrow? I made your favorite coconut shrimp.”

The dining table was set with silver and bone china, but the smell of coconut shrimp—Mrs. Thompson’s specialty—cut through the tension.

Mrs. Thompson was an old housekeeper of the Harrison family who’d watched Michael grow up. Though at first she’d sided with Mother Harrison, seeing Michael’s devotion to me, she grew to care for me by association.

Over the years, whenever Mother Harrison criticized me—my clothes, my laugh, my inability to produce an heir—Mrs. Thompson would smooth things over. “Now, Mrs. Harrison Senior, you know Rachel means well,” she’d say, refilling wine glasses and changing subjects.

I’d come to see Mrs. Thompson as half a mother. She’d taught me Michael’s favorite recipes, shown me childhood photos, held me after brutal family dinners.

I sighed and agreed. My thumbs felt heavy as I typed: “I’ll be there.”

Mrs. Thompson had been truly good to me, so if I was letting go, I should say goodbye in person. She deserved that much.

I married with dignity, and I wanted to divorce with dignity too. My parents raised me better than to make a scene, even if my world was ending.

But Michael Harrison didn’t want that dignity.

He brought Ashley Monroe, holding their newborn, striding in like a family. Ashley in a pale pink dress, baby in a designer onesie. The living room fell silent—pity from Mrs. Thompson, satisfaction from Mother Harrison, embarrassment from Father Harrison, and horrified fascination from the extended family.

Ashley Monroe spoke first, her voice weak and innocent:

“Sister Rachel, don’t be angry. Mom called me to come. If you don’t want to see me, I’ll leave.” She clutched the baby closer, her performance Oscar-worthy. Her words were humble, but the look in her eyes was pure triumph. She’d won, and she wanted me to know it.

Just then, the baby let out a piercing wail, breaking the silence. Even the grandfather clock seemed to stop ticking.

Ashley panicked, rocking the baby, pleading: “Baby, don’t cry, don’t cry. Did I scare you? It’s all Mommy’s fault...” She looked around helplessly, the picture of maternal distress.

She looked to Michael for help, eyes red, on the verge of tears. Michael immediately stepped forward, hands reaching for the baby with practiced ease.

My mother-in-law swooped in, Chanel perfume trailing behind her, her voice going high and sweet as she reached for the baby: “Oh my dear grandson, why are you crying so hard? Are you uncomfortable? Let Grandma take a look!” She practically shoved Ashley aside in her eagerness.

She cradled the baby, her movements practiced, her eyes loving, as if this was the treasure she’d waited for. The grandson she’d been denied for fifteen years.

Even Father-in-law now frowned, looking at the baby with concern. “Perhaps he’s hungry,” he offered—the most words I’d heard from him in years.

Michael instantly noticed my displeasure. He furrowed his brow, shooting his mother and Ashley an extremely disapproving look. As if their presence wasn’t his doing.

He quickly walked to my side, half-shielding me from those complex stares. His cologne was different—when had he changed it?

I looked up at him, eyes reddening. “Michael Harrison, I came today because I have something to discuss with you.”

I pulled out the divorce agreement I’d prepared, turned to the signature page, and held it out. My hands trembled, but my voice was steady.

“This is...”

But the baby’s cries broke the moment.

Ashley coaxed the child, pleading: “Michael, our son misses his daddy, that’s why he keeps crying. Won’t you hold him?” She held the baby toward him. I watched his hands twitch, wanting to reach out.

He glanced at me, his tone pleading: “Honey, let me calm the child down and I’ll come right back.”

He took the pen and signed without hesitation, “Between us, you make the decisions, no need to discuss...” He signed with the same flourish he used on billion-dollar deals, not even reading what he was signing. He didn’t even look up. Maybe he never really saw me at all.