Chapter 6 - The AftermathThe fallout was swift, brutal, and absolute.

Within forty-eight hours of the gala, Mason’s legal team realized they stood zero chance against Victoria Vance. The hidden corporate accounts were seized by court order, the Chicago relocation bonus was frozen and redirected into a court-monitored emergency fund for myself and the twins, and Mason was slapped with a restraining order that kept him five hundred feet away from our home.
He tried calling my cell phone fifty times the first day. I blocked his number without listening to a single voicemail.
By Tuesday afternoon, Mason appeared in person on our front porch—looking disheveled, his expensive suit wrinkled, his hair uncombed. I watched him through the living room window as he pounded frantically on the front door.
"Brianna! Please open the door! We can talk about this! We can go to counseling!" he shouted, his voice cracking with desperation.
I didn't open the door. Instead, I pressed a button on my phone, activating the smart-home intercom system connected to the porch speaker.
"You're wasting your time, Mason," my amplified voice boomed out over the porch. "The locks have been changed. The divorce papers were filed this morning, and you’ll be served with your eviction notice from the marital title by tomorrow."
"Brianna, you can't do this to me!" he wept, slamming his fists against the wood. "I have nowhere to go! Vanguard fired me! My friends won't return my calls!"
"Moms don't get sick days, Mason," I replied coldly, echoing his own favorite phrase back to him. "You're a grown man. Figure it out."
May you like
I watched through the sheer curtains as he sank to his knees on the welcome mat, burying his face in his hands. It was the exact same posture I had maintained on the nursery floor three weeks ago, drowning in exhaustion while he walked away.
Some people only learn empathy when they are forced to taste the dust themselves.
Related Stories