I didn't go back to the garden. I left, taking a cab to our penthouse in Manhattan.
That evening, when Grayson pushed the door open, I was zipping up my suitcase.
I didn't look at him. "Genevieve tripped me with her cane today. Again. It was deliberate," I said, my voice flat. "She told me I wasn't as thoughtful as Sienna."
Grayson loosened his tie, his voice frayed with impatience. "She's been sick for two years, Juliet. She's allowed to be difficult. Just indulge her. What's the big deal?"
"Indulge her?" A laugh, sharp and brittle, escaped my lips. I held up the linen dress I’d been wearing, now stained with soup. "She did this."
"That's enough!" Grayson snatched the dress from my hand, throwing it onto the bed. "You never used to be like this!"
"Like what?" I shot to my feet, my eyes stinging. "Like getting up at five every single morning to cook her goddamn hypoallergenic meals? Or kneeling on the floor to scrub carpets she deliberately ruins, all while she calls me a jinx?"
Grayson swallowed, turning his face away. "You know why Mom had that anaphylactic shock."
The room fell silent, the accusation hanging thick in the air.
My nails dug into my palms.
That phone call.
Two years ago, on our anniversary, I’d just wrapped a major architectural photography shoot. Genevieve called.
"Don't answer it," I'd whispered, my arms wrapped around his waist. "Not tonight. It's our anniversary…"
Grayson hesitated, then bent to kiss me. "Just a minute."
"You always say that!" My nerves raw with exhaustion, I snapped and grabbed the phone, silencing it. "Don't you dare answer that. If you do, this night is over!"
I remembered the look in his eyes: shock, helplessness, and finally, weary resignation.
He sighed, set the phone aside, and pulled me into his arms. "Okay. I won't."
The next day, we got the call. Genevieve had gone into severe anaphylactic shock. Because no one had answered her calls for help, treatment was delayed. She almost died.
"Yes, I owe her," I admitted, my voice hoarse. "So for two years, I sacrificed my career, pouring everything I had into caring for her. And for what? To be tormented by her and have Sienna treat me like the hired help?"
Grayson ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Sienna's moving in tomorrow."
"What?"
"My mom likes having her around." His tone softened, like he was reasoning with a difficult child. "It's just for a few months. As soon as she's stable, Sienna will leave."
"Grayson," I cut in softly. "I went to the law firm today."
He went completely still.
"The paralegal said our divorce is final in ten days." I watched his face turn to stone. "Those papers you had me sign… that was a divorce agreement, wasn't it?"
"So you know!" He lunged forward, grabbing my wrist. "Mom forced me to do it! It was just to keep her happy for a while!"
"And you couldn't tell me?" I wrenched my hand from his grasp. "Seven years, Grayson. I don't even get the right to know?"
He exploded. "Can you stop being so damn aggressive? Do you have any idea how hard this is for me? I'm caught in the middle!"
I froze.
The first time he took me to meet his family. At a high-profile New York gala, his mother had announced to a table of socialites, "The only Prescott daughter-in-law will be Sienna." Later, on a balcony, Grayson held me while I cried. "My mom's just got a bad temper, just bear with her. It's so hard for me, being stuck in the middle."
When Genevieve refused to come to our wedding, he'd said, "She just needs time, Jules. It's hard for me…"
After the accident, he knelt at my feet, begging me to give up my career to care for her. "Jules, you're the only one who can help me through this."
Every time, I had been the one to yield.
"Grayson," I said, a sudden, profound exhaustion settling over me. "Do you still love me?"
The hesitation was only a fraction of a second, but I heard it. "Of course I do!" he blurted out.
