The Anniversary Toast Chapter 09
Two months passed.
I settled into my apartment, found a rhythm at work, and slowly rebuilt the daily architecture of my life. Mornings were coffee and silence. Evenings were books, cooking experiments, and long phone calls with Nora. Weekends were mine – entirely, unapologetically mine.
The divorce proceedings moved quickly. Grant’s lawyer attempted to contest the prenup, arguing that my “public humiliation” of his client constituted emotional abuse. My lawyer dismantled the argument in a single filing. The judge wasn’t sympathetic to cheaters.
I was granted the house – which I immediately put on the market – and a clean financial split. Grant got to keep his guilt and his gym bag full of secrets.
On a rainy Thursday afternoon, I was leaving the courthouse after signing the final papers when I saw him.
Not Grant.
Owen.
Grant’s brother was leaning against the courthouse railing, hands in his coat pockets, looking like he’d been waiting. When he saw me, he straightened.
“Elise. I’m not here to ambush you. I just – I wanted to see how you’re doing. Genuinely.”
I studied him. Owen had always been the quieter Price brother – less charming than Grant, but more substantial. He’d been the one to text me after the dinner, the only person from Grant’s side who hadn’t tried to excuse or minimize what happened.
“I’m doing okay,” I said. “Better than okay, actually.”
He nodded, something like relief crossing his face. “Good. That’s… good.”
An awkward pause. Rain tapped against the awning above us.
“Owen, you don’t have to feel responsible for your brother’s choices.”
“I know. But I grew up with him. I should have seen the signs.” He ran a hand through his hair – a gesture so different from Grant’s practiced smoothness. “He’s not doing well, for what it’s worth. Not that you need to care.”
“I don’t,” I said. Not cruelly. Just honestly.
He almost smiled. “Fair enough.”
“How are you handling it? The family fallout?”
His expression tightened. “My parents are devastated. My mom keeps asking where she went wrong. Dad won’t even say Grant’s name.” He paused. “And I’m angry. I’m angry at him for what he did to you, and I’m angry that I have to watch my family fall apart because he couldn’t keep his promises.”
I looked at him – really looked – and saw something I recognized. The exhaustion of being collateral damage in someone else’s destruction.
“It’s not your burden, Owen.”
“Maybe not. But I wanted you to know – not everyone in that family failed you.”
The rain picked up. He offered to walk me to my car, and I let him. We didn’t talk about Grant or Audrey or the divorce. He asked about my new apartment, and I told him about the IKEA furniture debacle. He laughed – a warm, genuine sound that caught me off guard.
At my car, he hesitated. “Would it be inappropriate to ask if you’d want to get coffee sometime? Not a date. Just… coffee. Between two people who could use some normal conversation.”
I looked at him for a long moment. His eyes were honest – no performance, no agenda, just a straightforward question from a decent person.
“Ask me again in six months,” I said.
He blinked, then smiled slowly. “Deal.”