Chapter 13
The coffee shop had emptied after the lunch rush, leaving only a few people scattered beneath the front windows. Rain tapped against the glass, soft enough to disappear beneath the refrigerator’s steady hum. I sat with both hands around a mug I hadn’t touched.
Levi Rowan sat across from me, his coat folded over the back of his chair. He had brought a thin folder, but he hadn’t opened it. That mattered. Every other person connected to the campaign seemed to believe a document became more useful the moment it was placed in front of me.
“I need to say something before we talk about the review,” he said.
I looked at him. “Is this where you tell me what I should do?”
“No.” His mouth tightened briefly. “It’s where I tell you what I want, so you can decide whether you trust me near it.”
I waited.
“If the review confirms Brandon’s address conflict, my campaign benefits. There’s no honest way around that.” He kept his voice low. “His damage becomes my opportunity. I’m not going to pretend otherwise.”
The admission landed more cleanly than reassurance would have.
“But your evidence can’t become my property,” he continued. “Not because I’m noble. Because it isn’t mine. You collected it, you carried the risk, and you decide when it gets used.”
For a moment, I watched rain gather along the window frame and slide in uneven trails. Brandon had always called control responsibility. He had said it in that calm, persuasive voice people trusted at fundraisers and town meetings. He’d made decisions quickly, then praised himself for sparing everyone else the burden.
Levi was giving the burden back to me.
“I can’t begin anything with you because you were decent during the worst week of my life,” I said.
He nodded once. He didn’t flinch, and he didn’t look relieved.
“I’m not asking you to.”
“I mean it. I can’t become someone’s new story. I can’t leave Brandon and immediately become the woman Levi Rowan rescued from him.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t know if you do.”
“Then I’ll keep understanding slowly.”
That almost made me smile. Almost.
He finally opened the folder and slid one page toward me. It was the notice for the final review meeting, with the time, location, and list of submitted materials. The reviewer had requested the envelope, the candidate affidavit, dated campaign material, and statements connected to Brandon’s residence claims.
My name appeared under “witness available for clarification.”
“I’m going,” I said.
Levi’s eyes lifted. “Do you want me there?”
“I’m not sure.”
“That’s an answer.”
He closed the folder. “If you ask, I’ll sit in the hall. If you don’t, I won’t come inside. If you need a ride, call me. If you don’t, I won’t check whether you got there.”
The practical simplicity of it loosened something in my chest.
Back in my temporary room, I placed the ring on the desk beside the review notice. It looked smaller than it had on my hand. For weeks, it had seemed like evidence of a future I had failed to protect. Now it was only an object Brandon had given me, an object I no longer owed a meaning.
I put it in a padded envelope and addressed it to him.
Then I stopped.
Returning it tonight would still let him set the timing. He would open it before the meeting, call me, accuse me of making a performance out of everything. He would turn my choice into another argument he could control.
So I crossed out the address and wrote a note for myself instead: “Return when ready.”
I placed the ring inside the desk drawer, not as a promise and not as forgiveness.
May you like
At the review meeting, I would bring the evidence. I would answer what was asked. I would leave before anyone could turn my presence into a symbol.
For the first time since the bedroom door opened, the next decision belonged entirely to me.
