CHARLOTTE
“You have two options, Signora Thuthal,” the lawyer started, but I interrupted him by shaking my head slowly. While I understood the mistake, hearing myself referred to as Rogerio’s wife felt like a blade cutting through the open wound in my heart. 1 swallowed and stopped myself from wrapping my arms around my body as a chill ran down my spine.
He stopped to listen to me with rapt attention, his eyes holding an interesting mix of empathy and curiosity. I stared at him with a blank expression, slightly impressed that he remained unfazed by the silence or the stare. It was impressive, really; he reminded me of Maria. They had a certain protective aura about them. Being in the room with him, I could tell that he was willing to help me in whatever way he could.
I wondered how many court hearings and private sessions with clients it would take to pull it off, silently contemplating if being a lawyer was something I’d want to do. I started to consider the possibilities, but my thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. I resisted the urge to turn as his eyes shifted in the direction of the noise.
“Come in,” he called out, and a few seconds later, I heard heels clicking against the floor rhythmically. The sweet smell of apples and chocolate filled the room as she walked past me and headed for the table.
She started to brief him about an appointment that had been canceled. Thankful for the distraction, I lowered my gaze, focusing my eyes on the red Jimmy Choos I was wearing.
They were a gift from Rogerio. I couldn’t remember what the occasion was at the time–probably one of the few dates we went on–but I remember how excited I was when I got them. I smiled as I realized that my brain was forcing me to forget memories of things that could potentially stall my recovery.
I chose to encourage it by trying not to dwell on the memory. If I wanted to be in a better place, I needed to heal. Inside and out, I needed to learn to move past the pain I felt in my gut and my head. I was slowly deciding to let go of whatever I was holding onto with Rogerio. There was no reason to wish for something that would never be.
“It might just be time,” I muttered, lost in thought. I stared at the shoes and started to wonder if this meant I had to let go of everything that reminded me of the Thuthais.
It was an angle I was willing to explore. I could move to somewhere new, a smaller apartment, and work out the kinks from there. If anything, I needed physical and mental recovery. I sighed in resignation. These were my favorite pairs of shoes to wear, but I slowly realized that I might have to give them up.
“Signora?” he stated, pulling me out of my reverie. I looked up to see that the secretary had exited the room, and the smell of her perfume had been replaced with the lingering smell of coffee, which sat in a transparent jar along with pastries to go with them. “Would you like some?”
He gestured towards the tray, and I shook my head in response. As soon as I answered, I regretted it. My thoughts shifted back to the pastries I had earlier in the day, and I started craving them once more.
I pushed the thought out of my mind and turned to see him staring at me. His eyes were fixed on me intently, and I felt like he was just as curious as I was about my next course of action. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a
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particular thought kept surfacing above the rest, demanding my attention.
“Um, Edwards. I’m Charlotte Edwards now. Signora Thuthai is someone else,” I whispered as I forced myself back to the present. This conversation had to be over soon; I had to go home and lie in bed.
I considered returning to the restaurant, but I wasn’t entirely sure since it was in the opposite direction.
I would make a decision later. This meeting would determine how I would address Elena’s intrusion, which was a bigger problem that needed to be resolved.
“I apologize. Ms. Edwards,” I nodded in response, and he continued talking. “Regarding the ring, here are a few things. You can keep the ring. It is unlikely that Signor Rogerio would pursue legal action to retrieve it.”
“I’m certain he doesn’t even remember it,” I replied with a shrug, and a smile played at the corner of his lips.
“Exactly. And in a way, that’s good because it originally belonged to you. If it were an heirloom, there might be a bit of a problem doing anything with it.”
“So Elena can’t touch it?”
“What?” he asked with a confused expression.
“Elena La Guerta? What does she have to do with this?”
“Everything,” I mumbled with a chuckle. “She stopped by the estate earlier, claiming it was hers.”
“She can’t do that. It belongs to you now,” he responded, reaching for a bun.
“That’s what I told her,” I said quietly.
“Do you think she’s going to be a problem? You can file a restraining order against her.”
“Then I’ll be the crazy ex–wife. That’s the game she wants to play; I’m not doing that.”
“It’s for your safety,” he insisted, and I shook my head.
“That’s like telling me to sue Rogerio for bigamy,” I added, hesitating to ponder my words. “Is that even possible?”
He started to respond, but I held up my finger and said, “Don’t tell me. I’d rather move past this whole divorce than get into a catfight with Rogerio and his family.”
He sighed and watched me in silence. “The point is, I’m not doing that. I just want to know if I have enough money to carry on with my life and if I can find legal means to get more money if the need arises.”
“I understand.”
“Thank you. So, what’s the second option?”
“You can sell the ring. Depending on some factors, you might need to split the proceeds with your ex–husband. Lastly, you could donate it to charity or repurpose it.”
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“That would be a symbolic way of moving on from the past,” I retorted, and he nodded in response. I considered the options he presented.
I wasn’t going to donate it; it cost way too much, and I might need the money later. When I’m financially stable, I could consider philanthropy, but for now, I need to hold on to it.
“Very well, thank you for your time,” I announced and I started to stand up, but he stopped me.
“Give me a minute, Signora. I might save you a trip to the accountant’s office,” he suggested, and I sat down.
I arched my eyebrows as a confused look crossed my face. “What are you talking about?”
“Your assets are the estate and the ring. I presume your next stop is to the accountant.”
“Yes?”
“I might have some information for you, and you might not need to go there.”
“I’m listening,” I responded, watching as he reached for a file from the shelf behind him.
“This is going to be a long minute; sure you don’t want some pastries? Coffee?”
I accepted his offer and waited as he poured me a cup and handed me the basket to pick up a bun. As I ate, he mentioned the cost of the estate, the annual revenue it generated, and the cost of the wedding ring.
The total amount was approximately $100 million, which would be enough to run the estate and facilitate anything I decide to do for a while. He noted that I had never had that sort of money before, which I affirmed.
He apologized for his intrusion and asked if he could offer some advice on how to keep the revenue flowing in. Absentmindedly, I agreed and let myself enjoy the last bit of pastry in my mouth as I sipped from the cup. Everything suddenly felt a lot better. I still had a throbbing head and a wounded heart, but this information made me believe in the possibility of better chances in life.
As he spoke about investments to ensure the revenue keeps flowing in, I was simply happy to focus on the crux of everything. I could take care of the estate’s security and still take a breather elsewhere. Once the recruitment process for the new staff was over, I would look up cities I could travel to. The prospect of a new environment filled me with renewed strength.
“Thank you for your time and your kind words, Signor,” I said, pausing as a thought crossed my mind. “Can I request a client?”
“You already have that,” he interrupted with a knowing smile. “For added measure, I’ll be keeping this information locked up in a safe. Your accountant has signed a non–disclosure agreement as well.”
I smiled as a relieved look crossed my face. “That’s excellent. I’ll be in touch,” I murmured, standing up.
I leaned forward, put down the empty cup onto the tray, and grabbed a second bun. “Thank you,” I said, and he
nodded.
I exited the establishment feeling better than I had when I arrived. I still had to see the accountant; I needed to know
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how much personal money I had saved up, but that could wait till another day.
