Chapter 8 - The Price of Entitlement
The weeks following the mediation session were filled with the quiet, methodical paperwork of dissolution. The final divorce decree was signed by a judge in mid-July, less than two months after the fateful barbecue in Lakewood.
Daniel had complied with every term of the settlement. The $139,650 was wired into my private bank account, and the deed to the Lakewood house was formally updated, listing me as the sole, independent owner of the property.
True to my word, I signed the non-cooperation affidavit prepared by Renee’s office. The Lakewood Police Department’s financial crimes division placed the identity theft case into an "inactive" status, citing a lack of prosecuting witness cooperation. Daniel had avoided a felony record, but the cost of his safety had been total financial liquidation.
In late July, I received an unexpected visitor at the Lakewood house.
I was in the front yard, deadheading the rose bushes near the porch, when a small, older sedan pulled up to the curb. It was Ava’s car—a ten-year-old Honda Civic that I had helped Daniel pay to repair the previous winter.
Ava got out of the driver's seat. She was dressed in her volleyball practice uniform—shorts, a t-shirt, and sneakers. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. She walked up the driveway with a slow, hesitant step, her hands shoved deep into her pockets.
I stopped working, leaning against the wooden porch railing as she approached.
“Hi, Megan,” she said, her voice small and tight.
“Hi, Ava,” I replied. “Is everything okay?”
She nodded, looking down at her sneakers before raising her eyes to meet mine. “Yeah. I just... I needed to bring you something.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, velvet-covered jewelry box. She held it out toward me.
I recognized it immediately. It was the box containing the thin gold bracelet Daniel had given me on our first anniversary—the one I had left on the patio table beside the paper plates the afternoon I walked out.
“Dad’s mother gave this to him after you left,” Ava said, her voice trembling slightly. “He... he tried to give it to me last week. He said I should sell it to help pay for my books for senior year, since things are really tight right now.”
She took a step closer, extending her hand further. “But I didn't want it. I knew what it was. I knew he bought it with money that wasn't really his. I told him he was disgusting for trying to give it to me.”
I looked at the small box in her hand, then I looked at her face. The child who had spent three years treating me like an enemy was gone. In her place was a young woman who looked deeply, profoundly disillusioned by the world she had grown up in.
“You didn't have to bring it back, Ava,” I said softly.
“Yes, I did,” she insisted, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “I needed to tell you that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what happened at the barbecue. I'm sorry for the last three years. I... I didn't know he was doing those things to you. I thought he was this amazing dad who was doing everything for me because he loved me so much. Now every time I look at him, I just see someone who lied to everyone.”
She wiped her face with the back of her hand, her shoulder shaking. “He lives in my uncle's basement now. He drives this old truck Marcus lent him because he had to sell his car to pay his lawyer fees. He cries all the time, Megan. It’s... it’s horrible to watch.”
I walked down the porch steps, stopping a foot away from her. I didn't hug her—we had never had that kind of relationship, and forcing it now would have felt cheap and unearned. Instead, I gently took the jewelry box from her hand.
“Your father does love you, Ava,” I said, and it was perhaps the hardest truth I had ever had to voice. “He loved you in a way that was broken and dishonest, but he did everything he did because he wanted to give you the world. His mistake was thinking he could steal that world from someone else without anyone noticing.”
I opened the box, looked at the glittering gold chain inside, and closed it again.
“You don't have to carry his shame,” I told her, looking directly into her eyes. “What he did to me is between him and me. You're sixteen. You have a senior year to finish, and you have college to think about. Don't let his choices ruin your future.”
Ava looked at me for a long moment, her face softening. “Can... can I still text you sometimes? Just... about volleyball or stuff? If I get into college?”
I looked at the girl who had once screamed “Don’t ever touch me again!” in front of a yard full of people. The memory no longer had any power over me. It was just a scene from a movie I had watched a long time ago.
May you like
“Yes, Ava,” I said, offering her a small, genuine smile. “You can text me.”
She nodded, swallowed hard, and turned around to walk back to her car. I stood on the driveway, holding the little velvet box, watching her drive away until her car disappeared around the corner of Willow Lane.
