Chapter 4 - Burning the Past to Build a Future
The house was quiet when Nathan got home, the only light coming from the lamp in the living room where Grace was still asleep on the couch. He knelt down next to her, brushing her hair off her face, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She stirred, smiling sleepily. “You were gone a long time.”
“Had to run a work errand,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep. I’m just gonna finish up some stuff in the office.”
He walked to his home office, closing the door softly behind him, and pulled the crumpled brown envelope out of his jacket pocket. He stared at it for a long time, the words Petition for Dissolution of Marriage printed in bold black letters on the front, then tore it open, pulling out the thick stack of legal papers. He read his own signature at the bottom, the date he’d signed it—July 1, 2026, three days prior—and felt sick. He’d signed his name to the end of their marriage, had been ready to walk away from the only woman he’d ever loved, all because he’d been too scared and too stupid to ask the right questions.
He carried the papers to the small fireplace in the corner of the office, struck a match, and dropped them in. He watched as the flames ate through the paper, turning his signature to ash, turning the words that would have ended their marriage to nothing but smoke. When the last embers died out, he poured himself a glass of whiskey, sat down at his desk, and got to work.
First, he called his lawyer. “Martin, it’s Nathan Brooks. Drop the divorce case. Immediately. I don’t want any more paperwork, I don’t want any more calls. It’s over. Consider it closed.” Martin sputtered, asking if he was sure, if he wanted to think about it, and Nathan cut him off. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Send the bill to my office. And if you ever send me divorce papers again, I’ll find a new lawyer.” He hung up, poured another drink, and called Rico, his foreman and the only person he trusted to run the company in his absence.
Rico picked up on the first ring, his voice loud and cheerful. “Boss! You calling to tell me the drywall is definitely the right thickness? ‘Cause I checked three times, and—”
“Rico,” Nathan said, cutting him off. “I need you to listen to me carefully. I’m taking an indefinite leave of absence, starting tomorrow. You’re in charge of the Capitol Hill contract. Full signing authority, full decision-making power. Whatever you need, you get it. If you have questions, you call me, but I trust you. Don’t mess this up.”
Rico was quiet for a beat, then said, “Is everything okay, Nate? You sound… off. Is Grace alright?”
Nathan’s throat tightened. “Grace is sick. Real sick. I’m gonna be with her, every step of the way. The company’s in your hands now, Rico. Don’t make me regret it.”
“Whoa,” Rico said, his voice softening. “Shit, man. I’m so sorry. Of course I got this. You don’t worry about the company for one second. You take care of your girl. Call me if you need anything—anything at all. Money, a ride, someone to mow your lawn. I’m there.”
Nathan hung up, leaning back in his chair, and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Rico was good—better than good. He’d been with Nathan since the beginning, had helped him build the company from a one-man operation with a beat-up pickup to a 15-person firm with million-dollar contracts. He’d handle the Capitol Hill job. Nathan knew it.
He spent the rest of the night working: updating the company’s operating procedures, signing over power of attorney for business decisions to Rico, emailing clients to let them know Rico would be their main point of contact for the next few months, researching ovarian cancer until his eyes burned. He read every article he could find on Stage IIIB ovarian cancer, on the surgery Grace was scheduled for, on the chemo and radiation that would follow. He made a spreadsheet of the top oncologists in the country, wrote down every question he wanted to ask her doctors, set up a folder on his laptop labeled GRACE and filled it with medical journals, treatment plans, and clinical trial information.
At 2 a.m., he heard Grace’s footsteps in the hallway. She knocked softly on the office door, then pushed it open, wearing his old college t-shirt, her hair messy with sleep. “What are you doing up? It’s late.” She walked over, leaning against his desk, and nodded at the open laptop, her eyes widening when she saw the webpage for the Ovarian Cancer Research Alliance. “Nathan? What is this?”
His heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t have a plan solid enough, didn’t have all the answers. He closed the laptop quickly, forcing a smile. “Just research for a hospital expansion job we’re bidding on. Mercy General. Figured I should know what I’m talking about.” He stood up, wrapping his arms around her, and pulled her close. She was so small, so fragile, in his arms. “You should be in bed. It’s late.”
May you like
She rested her head on his chest, her arms wrapping around his waist, and he held his breath, waiting for her to push him away, waiting for her to make an excuse to leave. But she didn’t. She stayed there, her body soft against his, and mumbled, “I missed this. Missed us.”
His throat tightened so much he could barely speak. “Me too, baby. Me too.” He kissed the top of her head, swaying slightly with her in the middle of the office, and made a promise to himself right then: no more lies. No more half-truths. Tomorrow, he’d tell her everything. He’d tell her he’d overheard her at Margaret’s, that he’d seen her medical chart, that he’d burned the divorce papers, that he was ready to fight this with her, no matter what it took. And if she tried to push him away? He’d just hold on tighter. Because for the first time in a year, Nathan Brooks knew exactly what he wanted. And it wasn’t a divorce. It was Grace. It was always Grace.
