The arrogant, persuasive tone that had filled his phone calls three weeks earlier was completely gone.

“Natalie took her suitcases and left for Denver,” Ethan said, staring at the polished floorboards between his shoes.

“I saw her car go through the perimeter gate ten minutes ago,” I replied, draping Henry’s coat over my arm.

“How do I even begin to fix eight years of damage, Grace?” Ethan asked, turning his signet ring once before letting his hand fall.

“You don’t fix eight lost years with one conversation or a financial gesture,” I told him, looking him straight in the eye.