Chapter 10 - The Unburdened Horizon
Fourteen months later.
The November air along the Chattahoochee River was crisp, smelling of fallen oak leaves, damp earth, and pine needles.
I stood on the wide stone terrace of my new home—a modern, glass-and-cedar sanctuary nestled into the wooded bluffs of Sandy Springs, just fifteen minutes north of Buckhead.
I had sold the Peachtree penthouse four months after the divorce was finalized for $2.4 million—a record price per square foot for the building. I didn't want to live among the ghosts of Everett’s petty deceits, nor did I want to look at the foyer where Shirley had set her muddy sneakers.
The new house was entirely mine. High timber ceilings, walls of glass that looked out over the silver curve of the river, and not a single piece of furniture that carried the weight of the past.
Inside, the warm glow of candlelight illuminated the dining room.
A dozen of my closest friends, creative directors from Vanguard, and Arthur Sterling were gathered around a long white-oak table, drinking vintage Barolo and laughing over the success of Vanguard’s recent international launch in Tokyo.
Vanguard had experienced its most profitable year in company history. Without the dead weight of Everett’s manufactured crises and financial bleeding, the business had expanded rapidly, opening two new branch offices and securing four Fortune 100 enterprise accounts.
Arthur stepped out onto the terrace, holding two glasses of sparkling mineral water with fresh mint.
He handed me one, leaning his elbows against the cedar railing.
“A magnificent evening, Stella,” Arthur said, looking out over the dark water below.
“It really is,” I smiled, taking a sip. “Quiet.”
“Speaking of quiet,” Arthur said, reaching into his inner jacket pocket and pulling out a small white envelope. “The quarterly restitution report arrived from the state monitoring office this morning. I thought you might want the update.”
I looked at the envelope. For a long time, the mention of Everett’s name had triggered an involuntary tightening in my chest.
Now, it felt no heavier than a leaf falling from one of the river oaks.
“What’s the update?” I asked.
“He’s currently living in an extended-stay motel outside of Toledo, Ohio,” Arthur said, his tone dry. “Working as a telephone logistics dispatcher for a regional scrap metal recycling company. His wages are being garnished at the maximum statutory rate of fifty percent.”
“How much did he pay this quarter?”
“One thousand, four hundred and twenty-two dollars and sixteen cents,” Arthur said. “At this rate, he will satisfy the civil judgment against him in approximately seventy-eight years.”
I let out a soft laugh that drifted away into the cool river breeze. “And his parents?”
“Walter passed away in his sleep last spring,” Arthur replied softly. “Shirley moved into a state-subsidized assisted living facility outside Akron. Everett visits her once a month on the local bus. According to the court liaison, she still blames him for losing the house.”
I took another sip of my water, watching the moonlight ripple across the surface of the Chattahoochee.
I felt no joy in Walter’s death, nor did I feel any sadistic pleasure in Shirley’s lonely old age. But neither did I feel guilt.
They had built their house on a foundation of unearned pride, selfish cruelty, and the belief that other people existed solely to serve their comfort. When the foundation crumbled, the collapse was inevitable.
“Stella!” called out Maya, my brilliant young operations director who had taken over Chloe Vance’s old department and tripled its output. She was standing by the open glass doors, holding up a bottle of champagne. “We’re cutting the cake! Come inside!”
“Coming, Maya!” I called back.
I turned to Arthur, raised my glass, and touched it against his with a clean, bell-like ring.
“To clean slates,” I said.
“To unburdened horizons,” Arthur replied.
May you like
I took one last look at the dark, peaceful river winding through the Georgia woods.
Then I turned my back on the cold night, walked through the open doors into the warmth, the laughter, and the light of the life I had built with my own two hands, and closed the glass behind me.
