I’d taken a part-time job at an exclusive boutique that paid little but, regardless, they expected me to wear clothes that cost a fortune (theirs, and they only gave a ten percent discount). This employment was something Aaron’s mother decreed was “acceptable” before we started our family, upon which I would quit and take care of said family (the first part I didn’t agree with, the second part I did).
Aaron took his position as a junior associate in his father’s old firm, which was his grandfather’s old firm, which meant, even though both of them left it to become judges, their name was still on the letterhead. And even though Aaron was a junior associate, they were fast-tracking him to partner. Giving him meaty cases. Putting him as second chair to the big names in the firm so he could learn from the best.
All of this meaning he worked brutal one-hundred-and-twenty-hour weeks, which I knew now was not true because a number of those hours he was wooing and winning Tory.
And last, I’d shared that having Travis was Aaron’s idea. I might not have used it in a while, but I did have a brain, which meant I had an inkling things with my husband were not right. I would never have brought a child into that.
But he was all about us, our future, our family, making strong stronger (his words), one of those times I did not get—and got it less now that it was over—when he was so devoted to me it didn’t seem real.
Maybe because it wasn’t.
But it was beautiful.
So I again turned a blind eye and gave in, quitting my job when I started showing, and shortly after ending up in hell.
I told them all that and more.
So I’d cried a lot. Lanie had cried with me. Tyra teared up a few times.
Elvira just looked angry.
If she wasn’t so funny and friendly and nice, she would scare me. Luckily, she was all those things (but also scary).
They left and now my eyes were tired because after they did, even though it felt good to get it out, share it with people who seemed to care, I didn’t sleep.
I didn’t because I didn’t want to do bad things God would frown on (seriously) to keep Travis.
Not unless it was a last resort.
And it wasn’t.
Not yet.
That was why I’d put out the stuff on my bar.
The platinum necklace with the quarter-carat diamond pendant Dad had given me. The pearl and diamond earrings my grandmother gave me to wear to my wedding. The emerald and diamond tennis bracelet Aaron’s parents gave me when we’d become engaged. The gold bangles Aaron bought me for Valentine’s Day every year (which also was our wedding anniversary—cliché, now embarrassing, what with me being a hopeless romantic with emphasis on hopeless).
And my engagement and wedding rings.
I would start with selling the useless stuff Aaron and his folks gave me and then move on to the others when needed.
And I’d find an attorney who would take my case, be ruthless, get me the child support that Travis deserved, and make it clear to Aaron I was not going anywhere.
If that ran out, I’d find other ways, selling the furniture I got in the divorce that I had in storage (well, Dad did, since he paid for the unit) being one of them.
And if it came to it, I’d get on my knees.
I was just going to exhaust all my other options first.
But I wasn’t going to lose my son.
On this thought, there was a knock on the door and I looked to it.
I didn’t need company and I couldn’t comprehend how I’d have any. No one visited me.
But I’d left my car at Ride and I had a day shift at the store. I needed to take the bus. I’d looked up the route and one dropped off about three blocks from the store. But I had no idea how long it took. My normal commute was twenty minutes but I’d added on another thirty just in case.
I needed to get going.
I slid off the stool and went to the door. I looked through the peephole, saw coverall guy from Ride was standing outside (again in coveralls), and with some confusion, I opened the door.
“Hey,” I greeted, ready to tell him he could have called with the estimate. I hadn’t exactly given him my number, but Tyra was office manager at Ride and I’d given it to her.