Nor excuse his affair with Sloane.
Nor blame my inheritance.
He described years of expecting his next accomplishment to bring security.
Another title.
Another raise.
Another room filled with people recognizing him.
Each success only increased his fear of losing it.
He began equating disagreement with disloyalty.
Then love with loyalty.
Finally loyalty with obedience.
At the page’s bottom, he’d written:
The worst thing I did wasn’t firing you.
It was becoming the kind of man who needed you to be small before I could feel important.
I reread the lines.
I folded the letter afterward.
I sent no reply.
I’d learned forgiveness needn’t reopen a door.
Sometimes it meant leaving that doorway rather than waiting for a knock.
A year later, Vale & Royce returned to the Grand Meridian for its annual leadership dinner.
I nearly rejected the invitation.
Then I reconsidered.
I chose black.
