Tit For Tat Chapter 30
The car stopped outside my apartment building.
The driver asked if I needed an umbrella.
I said no.
The spring rain was light, and the air wasn’t cold.
I was carrying my bag into the lobby when my phone buzzed.
A message from an unfamiliar number.
“Ms. Hart, Sloane has returned to Boston. She wants to explain in person about the photos from three years ago and the engagement email. Would you be willing to meet? “
I glanced at it once and deleted it.
The evidence was filed.
The responsibilities were assigned.
Some people, and some things, don’t need another meeting to be over.
The elevator doors opened.
My reflection looked back at me from the mirrored walls.
I hadn’t taken off my makeup. My lipstick was still perfect. My eyes were clear.
Suddenly, I remembered the question Sloane had thrown at me in that private room, her chin tilted in defiance:
“Don’t tell me you can’t even accept the facts? “
Of course, you have to accept the facts.
I was once left at the altar. I was fought over. I was publicly humiliated. I gave my heart to the wrong person.
Harbor Dock really did lose time and money because of it.
And those screenshots will probably never disappear completely.
But there is another fact, too.
I am not merchandise to be returned, taken, or reappraised by anyone.
And I do not need another man’s choice to erase the wounds I carry.
The elevator reached my floor.
I walked into my home.
The sunflowers in the entryway had long since withered.
I replaced them with a bouquet of white tulips I’d bought for myself.
The lights in the living room came on.
I slipped off my heels, walked barefoot across the soft rug, and poured myself a glass of warm water.
There was a budget meeting tomorrow.
Next week, I had to fly to Philadelphia to look at a new redevelopment project.
A half-finished investment proposal sat on my dining table.
My life was busy.
And it was bright.
My phone lay quietly on the table.
No Adrian.
No Noah.
No Sloane.
I finished my water and opened my laptop.
The homepage of Harbor Dock’s official website was playing a nighttime video of the completed development.
At the bottom of the page, there was no poll, no price tag, and no label someone else had attached to my past.
There was only a single line:
“Project Lead: Evelyn Hart. “
Outside the window, the city lights spread beneath me like a newly opened river of stars.
This time, I was standing at my own window.
And every choice was in my own hands.Â