The waiter returned with my card. I signed the slip and added a fifty percent tip without hesitation.
“So here’s my proposal,” I said, standing again. “We all start over tonight. You come to my apartment in South Boston. I’ll cook. Nothing fancy — probably spaghetti and a salad from the Stop and Shop down the street. Michael and Jessica will be there. And we’ll get to know each other as actual people, not as bank accounts, or portfolios, or social standing.”
Patricia’s eyes filled with tears. “You’d do that. After everything we said to you today?”
“Sarah used to tell me everyone deserves a second chance. I’m trying my best to live by that, even when it’s difficult.”
I stood and offered my hand to Richard, who took it — this time, his handshake carried gratitude instead of dominance.
“Six o’clock,” I said. “I’ll text Michael the address. Dress down. My neighbors won’t be checking anyone’s labels.”
