Chapter 10 - The Kneeling Man
It was nearly dark when the knock came at my hotel room door.
I didn't panic. The executive suites had strict elevator keycard access, but visitors could check in with the front desk. I had instructed the front desk that if Thomas arrived, they were to escort him up with security present in the hallway.
I opened the door six inches, the heavy brass security latch engaged.
Thomas stood in the hallway, looking like a man who had survived a plane crash only to be hit by a bus. His tie was undone, his collar stained with sweat, his eyes bloodshot and swollen from crying. Behind him, two burly hotel security guards stood with their arms crossed, silent and watchful.
"Emma," he breathed, gripping the doorframe. "Please. Just five minutes. That’s all I’m asking."
I unlatched the chain and stepped back, leaving the door wide open in plain view of the guards. "You have three minutes, Thomas. Say what you came to say."
He stumbled inside, stopping in the center of the clean, bright room. He looked around at the pristine furniture, the fruit bowl on the counter, the sheer peace of the space—a peace he had spent seven years disrupting with his family’s endless drama.
Then, to my utter disgust, he dropped to his knees.
"I’m sorry," he sobbed, burying his face in his hands. "I am so sorry, Emma. I was blind. I was weak. Brenda... she got inside my head. She told me you were cold, that you looked down on my family, that you were planning to leave me anyway and take everything. She convinced me that if I demanded the divorce first, we could force a settlement!"
"A settlement?" I repeated, my voice dripping with contempt. "You wanted to shake me down for cash."
"No! I didn't want the money, Brenda did! She swore she’d help me get custody of our baby so you’d have to pay us support! I didn't realize what she was doing until today! I swear to God, Emma, I didn't know!"
I looked down at this man. The man I had once thought was strong, the man whose hands I had held at an altar while promising forever. He wasn't a partner; he was an empty vessel filled with whatever poison his sister poured into him.
"You sat at that table," I said quietly, "and watched me tell you our child was growing inside me. And you didn't even stand up to hug me. You let your sister call my child a manipulation tactic."
"I was in shock!" he cried, reaching out to touch the hem of my pants.
I stepped backward, away from his touch as if he were carrying an infection.
"Get off the floor, Thomas. You look pathetic."
He struggled to his feet, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Please come home. We’ll kick Brenda out. We’ll put Joanne in an assisted living facility. Just the two of us and the baby. We can use your money to start over in another town!"
"My money?" I laughed out loud. The sheer, irredeemable selfishness of him was staggering. Even now, kneeling in the wreckage of his life, he was still planning how to spend *my money.*
"You have six days left to vacate my house," I told him. "The preliminary hearing is on Monday morning. Be there with your lawyer, or the judge will sign the default judgment without you."
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"Emma, don't do this!" he begged as I stepped toward the door and gestured to the guards. "Brenda has something on you! She told me in the car! If you take this to court, she’s going to use the tax files!"
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