Chapter 6: Her Choice

Claire’s POV

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” Jason demanded, staring at our joined hands.

My fingers were still wrapped around Ryan's. Every face nearby seemed turned toward us, but I kept my eyes on Jason. He had spent four years making me feel invisible. I wasn't going to shrink because he finally wanted to claim me.

“It means my divorce is going ahead,” I said. “What happens afterward isn't yours to decide.”

Jason gave a sharp laugh. “You're making a fool of yourself, Claire. Bennett won't marry you.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.” I released Ryan's hand before Jason could turn the moment into another accusation. “Please stay away from me.”

Ryan didn't answer for me. He waited until I'd stepped toward the exit, then fell into pace beside me. Behind us, Jessica said something that made Jason raise his voice, but I didn't turn around. I'd heard enough of them for one lifetime.

Outside, the evening air cooled my burning cheeks. A photographer near the entrance lifted his camera, and I instinctively looked down. Ryan moved slightly to one side, blocking the shot without touching me.

“My car's here,” he said. “Would you like a ride?”

I wanted to insist I could manage alone. Instead, I remembered Emily's apartment, the long journey home, and how exhausted I was. “Yes. Thank you.”

For several minutes, the only sound inside the car was traffic. I expected Ryan to question what I'd said to Jason, perhaps remind me that our lawyers hadn't even begun negotiating. He didn't.

“Are you all right?” he asked at last.

The question caught me unprepared. “I slapped my husband in front of half the city's art community. I'm not sure what all right looks like tonight.”

“He had no right to speak to you that way.” Ryan glanced at me. “I was angry enough to intervene, but you made it clear you wanted to handle him yourself.”

“I needed to. For years, I let him speak for both of us.” I rubbed my sore palm against my skirt. “When I took your hand, I wasn't agreeing to a wedding.”

“I know.”

“I was choosing not to be ashamed of standing beside you.”

Ryan's expression softened. “I'm glad you told me.”

I looked out at the passing lights. “It felt safer than I expected. Holding your hand, I mean.”

He didn't make a joke of it. “You shouldn't have had to feel unsafe with your husband.”

Something in his voice made me turn back. Ryan could negotiate with people twice his age without blinking, yet he seemed uncertain what to do with a simple confession. I wondered how often anyone asked whether he was all right.

“Does your family ever let you make a decision without questioning it?” I asked.

“Rarely. Victoria calls it protecting the company. Sometimes I think she's forgotten a person is running it.” He loosened his tie. “I learned early that if I looked certain, people stopped asking how I felt.”

“That sounds lonely.”

“It can be.” He looked surprised by his own answer.

Our hands met on the seat when the car turned. Neither of us moved immediately. His fingers were warm against mine, and the quiet between us changed. I withdrew first, not because I disliked the touch, but because I liked it more than I was ready to admit.

At Emily's building, Ryan walked me to the entrance. “Will you tell me if the hospital makes a decision?”

“Yes.” I hesitated with my key in hand. “Thank you for asking before you spoke tonight.”

“I promised I'd stop making choices for you.”

He left without asking to come upstairs. I watched his car pull away and felt an unexpected disappointment. I had spent so long hoping Jason would come home that wanting someone else to stay felt almost like a betrayal of the woman I used to be. Inside, Emily was waiting with tea and a hundred questions. For once, I wasn't sure how to explain the part of the evening that mattered most.

The next morning, my lawyer called while I was making breakfast.

“Jason received the divorce papers,” she said. “His lawyer has already indicated he intends to contest the petition.”

“Can he stop it?” I asked, setting down my cup.

“He can delay matters and dispute your claims, but refusing to cooperate doesn't automatically keep you married. We'll proceed through the proper process.”

I thanked her, though the thought of another fight with Jason made my stomach tighten. I had hoped leaving him would be the hardest part. Apparently, he intended to make every step afterward hurt.

At the hospital, Emily met me outside the financial office. The administrator had approved a revised initial payment using the eight-thousand-dollar advance from my coastal painting, which had now cleared. The remaining charges would be handled under a written payment schedule. Dad's medical team could begin planning his procedure again, though they hadn't set a date.

I read the document twice before signing. It wasn't a miracle. I still owed far more than I could comfortably pay, and I would need every legitimate commission I could find. But the doctors could move forward without waiting for the full original deposit.

When I entered Dad's room, he was awake, watching the door.

“You look less frightened today,” he said.

“We've agreed on a payment plan. They're arranging your surgery.” I sat beside him and held his hand. “I did it with my own work, Dad. Emily helped me negotiate.”

His eyes filled. “Your mother would be proud of you.”

I pressed my lips together. The painting Jason had let Jessica claim was still out there, but I couldn't solve every problem today. For now, Dad had a chance, and that was enough to make me breathe again.

That afternoon, an email from Ryan arrived with a preliminary marriage agreement for my independent lawyer to review and negotiate, not sign. I expected to find the conditions we'd argued about quietly rewritten in his favor. Instead, my professional name, ownership of my art, separate finances, private space, and freedom to disagree about my work were all there.

One clause stated that neither party could issue statements about the other's personal life without consent. I read it three times. Ryan had listened, even when listening meant giving up control.

A draft couldn't guarantee kindness or bind me before I agreed to it. But I was beginning to wonder whether two people who told each other the truth might keep their promises.

That evening, my phone lit up with a message from Jason. Attached was a photograph from the reception: my hand in Ryan's, my face turned toward him. The angle made us look intimate, as though the crowded room had disappeared around us.

*Enjoy your new man while you can. I'll make sure the divorce court sees what kind of wife you really are.*

My pulse hammered. He'd denied our marriage in public, yet now he wanted to punish me for leaving it. I forwarded the message to my lawyer and called her immediately.

“Can Jason use this against me?” I asked, staring at the photograph.

She hesitated. “He can certainly try, Claire. His lawyer moved quickly and has already filed a response to your divorce petition.”