Chapter 15
Brielle’s POV
Tim heads off to work while I prepare to go shopping. My father’s text cuts to the core, showing a picture of my sister and dropping the bombshell that she’s pregnant-pregnant by my ex. The sting of betrayal sharpens as I recall how he once insisted he didn’t want children anytime soon. What he truly meant, I now realize, is that he didn’t want them with me. That truth feels heavier than catching them in their affair.
Questions swirl in my mind, but my lawyer hasn’t reached out since I provided proof that my ex financed their sham wedding while still married to me. The last update was vague-a reassurance to leave things in his hands. Despite my lingering curiosity, I refuse to let it weigh me down. My focus is on building a new life.
As if summoned by the turmoil, my phone buzzes. I pick it up, my usual professional greeting slipping out instinctively: “Brielle speaking.”
“Hi Brielle,” my lawyer begins. “Just a heads-up-the judge issued orders for the bailiff to collect all items from the bank statements. That process is happening today, and Balen’s responsible for covering any missing items. Regarding the wedding, the celebrant didn’t file their registration properly, so it wasn’t even legally binding. The authorities are investigating whether their other ‘marriages’ were real. It might take time since this seems to be a long-running scheme. Police are digging into it thoroughly. Be prepared-they might want more documents or interviews from you as part of their inquiry. If you’re uncomfortable with them, we can handle it all through my office.”
“Will the hotels seek compensation?” I ask, eager for some accountability.
“Possibly, after charges are settled. But truthfully, you’re the one most harmed here.’
I share the latest twist: “My father sent me a picture-my sister announced she’s pregnant.”
“Interesting,” he muses. “This might bolster any future claims against her or your ex. Send me the picture, and I’ll add it to the file.”
“Thank you for everything,” I say, grateful for his thoroughness.
He laughs. “That’s what you’re paying me for.”
“You’ve gone above and beyond, and you know it,” I tease, giggling, unexpectedly lighthearted.
His laugh fades into what almost sounds like surprise. “Wow-it’s been ages since I heard you laugh.”
“It has been,” I admit. “But I’m carving out a new path for myself. I’m even changing my look. It’s time I
rediscovered who I am.”
“Good for you,” he says warmly. “Looking forward to seeing the new you. When do you start your job?”
“Next Monday. This week’s all about setting the stage for that. Clearing out the old me to make way for something new.”
“Sounds smart. Remember-you deserve to put yourself first for a change. Good luck, Brielle.”
Our conversation ends, and I head to clear out my closet. I bag up the dresses I’ve always resented, the ones Balen picked to make me feel less than. Four bags later, I load them into my car and drive to
11:08
11.20
a thrift shop. Once inside, a kindly woman directs me to a back alley for donations.
Surprisingly, the alley is pristine, unlike the typical trash-filled paths I expect. She’s already waiting when I pull up, her cheerful demeanor catching me off guard. As I pop the trunk, she peers into one of
the bags.
“These are practically brand new!” she exclaims.
“A few still have tags,” I admit. “They were gifts I never liked.”
“Jossira! Help with these!” she calls, ushering out a young man who quickly hauls the bags inside.
“Thank you,” she says warmly. “These will be perfect for the local school dance coming up. We rarely get stylish items like this.”
“I hope they find good homes,” I tell her with a smile.
With the donations dropped off, I jump into shopping, venturing into stores despite my usual preference for online orders. I pick out a few dresses for work and some for evenings out, telling myself that the rest can come later.
The hours slip away unnoticed. By the time I lug my bags home, fatigue hits me like a wall. Collapsing onto my bed, I glance at the clock-nearly six in the evening. How does shopping devour an entire day?
As I finish hanging up the last of my purchases, Tim’s voice drifts from the kitchen, announcing pizza. Pizza-it’s been years. Balen used to sneer at it, calling it “peasant food,” but tonight, it feels like a
treat.
Tim’s gone all out, bringing coffee and pizzas with multiple toppings. “I wasn’t sure what you like,” he admits. “Figured two pizzas with different combos might cover my bases.”
“As long as there’s no anchovies, I’m good,” I say with a grin. “Not a fan of fish on pizza.”
He nods. “Noted. For me, pineapple’s the dealbreaker.”
His reply earns a laugh as I grab a slice and pour some coffee. Conversation flows naturally as we eat, the comfort between us filling the space. Last night’s passion could’ve complicated things, but neither of us seems ready to confront it yet.
For now, we let it linger unspoken, content to simply enjoy this moment together.
