I looked at Ethan.
“So I gave him witnesses.”
His knees buckled. He grabbed the table, knocking silverware to the floor.
“Amelia…” he whispered. “We can fix this.”
I stood.
“No,” I said quietly. “You hit me over coffee. You stole from me. You humiliated me while I bled. There’s nothing to fix.”
They arrested him before breakfast got cold.
Six months later, Ethan pleaded guilty to fraud. The assault charge stayed on record. His partner cooperated. Diane lost access to everything she once controlled.
I kept the house for exactly thirty days.
Then I sold it.
On my first morning in my new apartment overlooking the river, I made coffee.
The wrong brand.
On purpose.
And I drank it slowly—barefoot in the sunlight—
