Chapter 3

The next morning, Alexander showed up at my apartment door with his new fiancée.

The doorbell rang twice. Before I could put away my tools, I heard Lydia's voice outside.

"Oh, the natural light in here is lovely."

I opened the door to find their driver setting two suitcases just inside the entryway.

Lydia stood beside them in a simple ivory coat, wearing a sweet smile as though she'd merely dropped by for a visit.

"What's going on here?" I looked at Alexander.

"Lydia's helping organize her mother's annual charity gala," he explained, pulling off his gloves. "It's easy to get to the hotel from here. I wanted to talk to you about buying the apartment back."

My eyes went to the frame on the wall. Four years ago, on my 24th birthday, he had climbed a ladder himself to hang my restoration certificate and a photo. He adjusted the frame twice and wouldn't let me help.

That day, he spread the deed out on the table, and I still remember exactly what he said. "No one ever gave you a home where you could lock the door and feel safe. Now you have one."

Standing in front of my birthday cake, I almost cried. He teased me for getting emotional over an apartment. I refused to admit it and joked that I was only happy because it would fetch a good price someday.

He didn't call my bluff. He just wiped a smear of frosting off my cheek with his fingertip.

"I'm willing to discuss a sale." I reached up and straightened the crooked frame. "Have your lawyer send me a formal offer with the proposed closing date and move-out terms. But nobody's moving in today."

Alexander clearly hadn't expected me to be so firm. "You're going to be all business, even with me?"

"This is my apartment."

His brow creased. Lydia hurried to smooth things over in a soft voice. "Please don't fight over me. I'm perfectly fine at the hotel. I really didn't know this would make Ms. Walker uncomfortable."

She sounded understanding, but she had already pushed a suitcase halfway over the threshold. I put out a hand to stop it and turned to the driver. "Please take the luggage back to the car. The sale hasn't gone through."

The driver looked to Alexander for instructions. When none came, he wheeled the suitcases back into the hallway.

"You never used to make such a fuss over little things," Alexander said.

"That's because we weren't broken up back then."

The living room went quiet for a moment. Lydia tucked her hair back, and I caught sight of the pair of emerald clip-on earrings she had on. They were antiques I had won at auction last year, and I had reinforced the clasps on the back myself.

"Where did you get those earrings?" I asked.

Her fingers stiffened. "I... I saw them on your dresser. They were so pretty, I thought I'd just try them on."

"Well, you've tried them now."

I held out my hand. With Alexander watching, she had no choice but to take the earrings off and put them in my palm, looking even more hurt.

"Irene, she didn't mean to take them," Alexander said, jumping to her defense.

"I never said she was." I opened my palm. "I'm simply taking back what's mine."

The metal was still warm from her skin. I put the earrings back in my jewelry box. When I turned around, I saw an old brooch pinned to her coat, and my heart sank.

It wasn't the rare piece from the night before. This one had a distinctive, hand-polished pattern. It was a keepsake Alexander's mother had left behind.

Five years ago, he had brought this keepsake to my workbench and warned me over and over not to damage it. There was a tiny solder mark on the back of the brooch where I had repaired it myself. The day he picked it up, he held it tight and said nothing for a long time, and for once, his eyes went red.

Now Lydia wore it like a trinket she could have picked up anywhere.

"Did you take this one out of my cabinet to try on too?" I asked.

"Alexander said I could pick a piece to go with my gown." She shot a quick look at him. "I thought wearing it to the memorial gala would make it more meaningful."

Alexander stepped forward and quietly told her to take it off. She did it gently, as if only now realizing how precious this old thing was.

As soon as the brooch was on the table, I could tell something was off. The slightly raised solder mark was gone, and the curve of the pin had been changed.

"Has this been altered?"

"I thought it needed cleaning, so I had it serviced," Lydia replied without hesitation.

I didn't touch the brooch. I couldn't tell whether it was the original just by looking at it from across the table.

Alexander cut in. "I'll look into it. Irene, you don't have to assume the worst about her every time."

I looked at him calmly. He had probably forgotten that he was the one who had insisted, over and over, that no one but me was allowed to repair this keepsake.

"Then I suggest you check it yourself."

He left a letter of intent to buy the apartment, offering an almost absurdly high price. "If you want more, have your lawyer get in touch. There's no need to make things ugly over a pair of earrings."

"Fine." I put the folder in a drawer. "I'll get back to you, but I'm not promising to sell."

After they left, I sorted through the work files in my drawer and found an old prescription at the bottom. It was from the time Alexander had a high fever and I sat up with him all night. In the morning, he took hold of my wrist. He didn't thank me. He just told me to lean on him and rest for a while.

I stared at that slip of paper for a long time, then folded it and put it away in a small box. It wasn't that I still dreamed of getting back together. I just couldn't erase every trace of those five years overnight.

That afternoon, Claire came to pick me up. The shared studio in Brooklyn had bright windows, two long, sturdy workbenches, and locking tool cabinets. The landlord looked through my portfolio of antique wedding ring restorations, confirmed my insurance paperwork was in order, and agreed to sign the lease.

"You're really going to work for yourself?" Claire flipped through the photos of my work.

"I've always taken clients. Everyone just assumed I was living off Mr. Hall."

"What about Alexander?"

"Someone else will run his parties." I closed the portfolio. "It just won't be me anymore."

On the drive back, I was still wearing the cashmere coat Alexander had given me, and the expensive gloves he had bought me years ago were in my pocket. I didn't throw any of it out.

Walking away from him didn't mean I had to give up the comforts I'd earned just to prove I could stand on my own.