Good at Losing Quietly
I wore no wedding ring. I carried no bitterness, and no fear of being alone.
While I waited for my flight, a message came in from Sebastian’s attorney, asking whether I might someday support an early-release request.
I deleted it. Then I boarded a plane to London — not following my husband this time, not trying to save a marriage, but flying out to negotiate the largest international contract in Ashford Aviation’s history.
As we rose above the clouds, I looked down at the city where Sebastian had believed he’d destroyed me.
He’d been wrong about a great many things. He was most wrong when he called me good at losing quietly.
I was never good at losing.
I had simply learned to wait until the truth had nowhere left to hide.
THE END.