Chapter 12 - REDWOOD CREST AGAIN
I returned to Redwood Crest six months later.
Not because I wanted to.
Henry invited me.
He was hosting a fundraiser for a local children’s hospital.
The same hospital where Maya had been born.
I almost declined.
Then Paige said,
“You know avoiding the place forever still gives it power.”
I hated when my younger sister was right.
So I went.
Redwood Crest looked beautiful.
Henry had changed almost everything.
Different furniture.
Different artwork.
Different lighting.
The staircase where Tessa used to pose for photographs now held a massive abstract painting.
Evelyn’s “room” had become Henry’s library.
I laughed when he told me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re sure?”
“Completely.”
Guests filled the ballroom.
Nobody knew I had once owned the house unless Henry told them.
And strangely, that felt good.
I wasn’t Audrey of Redwood Crest anymore.
I was just Audrey.
Then I saw Garret.
He stood near the terrace doors.
For one second, old instinct returned.
My shoulders tightened.
Then I noticed he was alone.
No Evelyn.
No Tessa.
He approached slowly.
“I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Same.”
He looked around.
“Feels weird.”
“Not really.”
He smiled sadly.
“It does to me.”
“That’s because you thought it was yours.”
He accepted the hit.
“I deserved that.”
“Yes.”
Henry approached.
“Garret.”
The two men shook hands.
Garret looked uncomfortable.
Henry looked amused.
“I owe you an apology,” Garret said.
Henry raised an eyebrow.
“For?”
“The day I came here.”
“Ah.”
Henry smiled.
“The shouting.”
“Yes.”
“The threats.”
Garret winced.
“Yes.”
“The part where you told me your wife had no authority to sell her own property?”
I covered a smile.
Garret sighed.
“Especially that.”
Henry patted his shoulder.
“Apology accepted.”
Then he walked away.
Garret looked at me.
“He enjoys that story.”
“So do I.”
For the first time in months, we both laughed.
Not as husband and wife.
Not even as friends.
Just two people who had survived the same disaster from opposite sides.
Then Garret became serious.
“The divorce papers should be final next week.”
“I know.”
“I’m not contesting anything else.”
“Thank you.”
“I should have done that months ago.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the ballroom.
“My mother still says you stole the house from us.”
I smiled.
“What do you say?”
“That you can’t steal something from someone who never owned it.”
I looked at him.
That was new.
“Good answer.”
He nodded.
“I’m learning.”
I believed him.
But learning did not mean returning.
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Some lessons arrive too late to save a marriage.
They can still save the person who learns them.
