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He started trailing us everywhere, acting as if nothing had happened.
The preschool, the mall, the dessert shop—wherever we went, he was there, a silent shadow.
Sometimes he would try to say a few words, but when he saw the irritation on our faces, he would retreat, his expression crestfallen.
At night, he would stand outside our villa, dozing against the gate when he got tired.
This went on for two weeks, until Alexander returned from a business trip and walked straight through the gates.
"The lady of the house gave instructions, Mr. Prescott," the guard said.
"You may enter. You, sir, may not."
That was the last straw. Liam finally lost control, his eyes red.
"Emma, we were so in love. Have you really forgotten all of it?"
I froze.
The seventeen-year-old Liam would wake up at five every morning just to walk me to school.
The twenty-year-old Liam accepted his academic awards by thanking me first, and would kneel to tie my shoe in the middle of a crowded campus.
The twenty-two-year-old Liam would bring me warm water to soak my swollen feet every night when I was pregnant, would sob with joy outside the delivery room, would spend entire nights rocking our newborn daughter to sleep.
But the twenty-seven-year-old Liam would leave me to take a taxi home alone in the middle of the night, would scream at me for another woman, would deny he was our daughter's father in front of a crowd of strangers.
It was precisely because I hadn't forgotten that I could never forgive.
I told the guards to remove him. Three days later, he was back.
His messages were relentless.
[Honey, I know I was wrong.]
[Please, just see me. Just once.]
A heavy rain began to fall. I looked out the window.
Under the yellow glow of the streetlamp, he stood, unmoving, his suit soaked through, staring up at my window.
When he saw me, a hopeful, pleading smile spread across his face.
I grabbed an umbrella and went outside. A contested divorce would hurt his company's stock price.
A settlement was the best option.
His eyes lit up when he saw me.
"Emma, you came. I knew you would. I sent Isabella away. She's gone. No one will ever bother us again."
He pulled a small, plush bunny from inside his jacket.
"Sophia wanted this. I brought it for her. Will you give it to her for me?"
The rain was coming down in sheets.
He didn't bother to shield himself, but he held the toy tightly, protecting it with his jacket.
Sophia had wanted that bunny. A year ago.
Back when he was too busy enrolling Lucas in school to pay any attention to her.
I took the toy. And dropped it in a puddle at his feet.
Affection that comes too late is cheaper than dirt.
His face went pale. He forced a smile that was more painful than a grimace.
"You're still angry, aren't you? Let me explain. There was never anything between me and Isabella. She was just delusional, trying to drive a wedge between us."
I laughed. If he hadn't given her hope, she never would have had the audacity to challenge me again and again.
The late-night phone calls, the photos in his office, the "Isabella and Lucas's Car" sticker on his passenger door—even my five-year-old could see what was happening.
For him to claim ignorance now was an insult. He just hadn't cared, because he thought Sophia and I would never leave him.
I had no desire to hear his excuses.
"Liam," I said, turning to leave.
"I didn't come out here to forgive you. I came to make things clear. Stay away from me and Sophia. I don't want to drag this through the courts, but if you force my hand, I will see you there."
