Chapter 3 - The Front Porch Ambush
I spent the rest of the day at an executive suite hotel near the Magnificent Mile. I had no intention of going back to the townhome until Grant was officially out. Under Marcus’s advice, I had arranged for a licensed moving crew and a private security guard to accompany me the following morning to supervise Grant packing his personal belongings.
Grant didn't wait for morning.
Around 6:30 p.m., I received a text from Sarah, my closest friend who lived in Lincoln Park: *Rachel, Grant is sitting in his BMW outside my building. He thinks you're staying with me. He looks unhinged.*
My pulse spiked for a brief second before instinct took over. "Don't open the door," I texted back. "I'm calling the police if he doesn't leave in ten minutes."
Before I could dial, my phone rang again. It wasn't Grant's cell. It was an unknown Chicago number. I answered it, putting it on speaker.
"Rachel?" Grant’s voice cracked through the speaker, ragged and breathless. "Rachel, please don't hang up. I'm using a stranger's phone."
"You shouldn't be calling me, Grant. Marcus Vance sent your office a formal communication this morning."
"Screw Marcus Vance!" Grant yelled, his composure slipping completely. "You had me served in front of my managing partners! Do you have any idea what that looks like? In the middle of the third-quarter review! They walked a process server right past the glass conference room!"
"You demanded a divorce at dinner, Grant," I said, keeping my voice level, deliberate, and icy. "You looked me in the eyes in front of your mother and sister, called my food disgusting, and told me we were done. What did you think the next step was? A vacation to Cabo?"
"I was frustrated!" he stammered, his tone shifting into that familiar, oily desperation he always used whenever he overstepped. "You know how stressed I've been with the junior partner track. You know Melissa gets under my skin and I say things I don't mean! I didn't want a divorce, Rachel. I wanted you to... to listen to me! To prioritize us instead of acting like you’re doing us a favor by existing!"
"Prioritize us?" I let out a dry, bitter laugh. "I paid seventy-two thousand dollars for Tyler's tuition over the last three years. I covered Melissa’s Lexus insurance. I paid Diane’s property taxes so she wouldn't lose her cottage in Schaumburg. And what did I get in return? Your sister openly mocking me at my own dinner table while you sat there nodding along."
"They're my family, Rachel!"
"And what was I, Grant?" I asked, looking down at my flat stomach. "What was this baby?"
Silence hung heavy over the line. I could hear his shallow breathing.
"Rachel..." he whispered, his voice dropping into a fake, trembling tenderness. "Think about our baby. A child needs a father. A child needs an intact home. You can't raise this baby alone out of spite. Let me come to you. Let's sit down, just the two of us, no lawyers, no family. We’ll tear up the papers."
"You don't want this baby, Grant," I said softly. "You want my paycheck. You want your family's bills paid so they don't look at you like the failure you are. If you ever come near Sarah’s apartment, or step foot into my home without my lawyer present, I will file for an emergency order of protection. Do you understand me?"
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"Rachel, wait—"
I hung up, blocked the unknown number, and immediately called Marcus. The battle lines were drawn, and Grant was finally realizing he had brought a butter knife to a war.
