But earlier that afternoon, after signing the divorce papers, I had done one very simple thing.

I canceled every secondary card attached to my company account.

“Marjorie,” I said calmly, “that card belonged to my business. Not your family.”

Silence.

Then the sound of silverware clinking, muffled conversations, rising panic.

“You need to fix this,” she whispered urgently. “The bill is over eighteen thousand dollars.”

I looked again at the photo of Alina sitting in white satin.

“No,” I replied. “I really don’t.”

Part 2

Marjorie lowered her voice, though I could still hear the chaos behind her: a waiter repeating the total, guests talking over one another, Nolan asking what was happening.