Chapter 12 - THE WEDDING GIFT THAT WASN'T
Six months after the canceled wedding, my father flew out from Boston for a weekend visit, not to attend a ceremony, but simply to share dinner at one of my favorite restaurants overlooking the Embarcadero.
We sat at a corner table at Kokkari Estiatorio, the warm scent of grilled lamb, lemon, and oregano filling the air around us as we clinked our glasses of Cretan white wine.
"Your mother tells me you turned down a feature profile in Forbes," my dad said, cutting into his roasted octopus with a smile. "They wanted to run the headline: The Billion-Dollar Breakup: How One Woman Sank Her Groom's Startup."
"Too sensational," I said, taking a sip of wine. "I prefer my financial audits to be quiet and legally binding."
My dad chuckled, shaking his head. "You know, your mother still keeps that original San Francisco wedding dress boxed up in the guest room back in Boston. She says it's too beautiful a piece of silk to leave sitting in a Napa Valley bridal suite closet."
I paused, looking out the restaurant window toward the glittering lights of the Bay Bridge.
"Tell Mom she can donate it," I said softly. "Or repurpose it. Silk like that deserves a second life. Preferably one that doesn't involve matching earrings or bridal trials."
"Done," my dad said, raising his glass toward mine. "To new portfolios and clean ledgers."
"To clean ledgers," I echoed, smiling as the warmth of the wine spread through my chest.
Life wasn't a romance novel where everything wrapped up in a neat little bow with lace and crystals. Real life was about risk assessment, boundary enforcement, and knowing when to cut your losses before the deficit became permanent.
Ethan Cole was a closed account, a bad debt written off against my personal growth, and a cautionary tale about ignoring red flags for the sake of keeping the peace.
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As for Savannah, rumor had it she had moved down to Los Angeles, trying her luck with a new circle of gullible tech bros who hadn't yet read the Napa Valley bankruptcy filings. Good luck to them. They were going to need a much better accountant than I ever was.
I looked down at my left hand. My ring finger was bare, unencumbered by family heirlooms or promise bands or diamonds bought with borrowed capital. It felt light. It felt free. And for the first time in my life, every single number on my balance sheet was entirely, undeniably my own.
