I entered the elevator.
“Sloane.”
She raised her eyes.
“You made your own choices. Don’t use his lies to erase yours.”
The elevator shut.
I filed for divorce that evening.
Not solely for adultery.
The affair was not the only reason.
The gala exposed what years of marriage had gradually taught me.
Camden wasn’t satisfied with personal success.
He needed everyone nearby diminished to magnify himself.
I refused to diminish myself again.
Next morning August invited me to the original Vale & Royce headquarters.
Not Camden’s prized glass tower.
The first building.
Its brick walls.
Its narrow windows.
Its scuffed wood flooring.
August’s original office remained almost unchanged from thirty years ago.
He gave me a photograph.
Mother stood next to him.
She appeared forty.
I’d never encountered the photo.
“Your mother hated photographs,” August said.
“She thought people behaved strangely when cameras appeared.”
August grinned.
