Chapter 8: The Penitence on the Porch
In late autumn, when the Catskill forests were ablaze in crimson, amber, and gold, an unfamiliar vehicle pulled up the gravel driveway.
It was an old, battered sedan with New York plates.
Julian stepped out.
He wore no tailored tuxedo, no Italian leather shoes. He was dressed in a plain, faded wool sweater, worn corduroy trousers, and cheap boots. His frame was thin; his face was hollow, his styled hair grown out and untrimmed. In his posture, there was no remaining trace of the arrogant scion who had gestured to Charlotte in the ballroom.
He walked slowly up the stone path, stopping at the bottom of the timber porch steps where Diana was sorting dried chamomile blossoms into glass jars.
Diana set her basket down. Her expression was calm, guarded, but devoid of hostility.
""Hello, Julian,"" Diana said quietly.
Julian looked up at her, his lips trembling, his hands buried deep in his pockets to hide their violent shaking.
""Diana,"" Julian whispered, his voice cracking with raw, exhausted humiliation. ""I... I came to bring you this.""
He pulled a thin manila envelope from his jacket and laid it on the bottom step.
""What is it?"" Diana asked.
May you like
""The final divorce decree,"" Julian said softly. ""I signed every waiver. I waived all claims to your family property, all rights to the prenuptial offsets, and all interest in the Catskill land. Everything is yours.""
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