«Can we talk?» he asked. «Maybe we can figure something out. I could… I don’t know. Maybe we could…»
He couldn’t even finish the sentence. Couldn’t bring himself to ask for what he actually wanted: help. My help. After everything.
«You asked for everything except Tyler,» I said calmly. «You got exactly what you wanted.»
«Alexis, please.»
«Goodbye, Vincent.»
I closed the door. He stood in the hallway for ten minutes. I know because I watched through the peephole while eating ice cream. Best show I’d ever seen. Five stars. Would watch again.
That evening, after Tyler went to bed, I sat in my small living room and looked at my grandmother’s photo on the shelf. The recipe box was next to it—the one thing Lorraine had almost taken. The one thing that mattered most.
«You were right about everything, Grandma,» I said quietly. «Keep your own money. Know your worth. And never let anyone make you feel small.»
The apartment was quiet. Small. Nothing like the house I’d lived in for 15 years. But it was mine. Every paint color. Every piece of furniture. Every decision. Mine.
And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I was free.