The new intern had been calling my husband “Daddy” for six months, but the night she dropped into his arms in front of four hundred employees, I finally understood why he had never asked her to stop.
Chapter 3
Three days later, Zena released a tearful video portraying herself as Seth’s frightened young victim.
She sat before a blank wall without makeup and claimed her powerful boss had coerced her into a relationship. Then she accused me of destroying her career to protect my husband.
For several hours, strangers believed her.
That was understandable.
People should take allegations of workplace coercion seriously, especially when there is a large power imbalance. If her story had been true, Starlight would have owed her protection regardless of what she had done to my marriage.
Unfortunately for Zena, the complete record told a different story.
At two o’clock that afternoon, Starlight released unedited security footage through our attorneys.
One recording showed Zena leaning over Seth’s desk.
“Transfer the money by Friday,” she told him. “Or your wife gets the Aspen pictures.”
Seth looked frightened.
“That’s corporate money.”
“Figure it out, Daddy.”
Another recording showed him agreeing to conceal expenses through a shell entity.
The public conversation changed quickly after that, but I refused to celebrate. Two people had nearly endangered four hundred honest employees because they believed the company existed to finance their private fantasies.
Law enforcement began investigating both of them.
Zena was arrested first.
Seth disappeared for several days.
Then, one Monday morning, Tracy rushed into my office.
“Security thinks Seth is near Sunny’s school.”
Every muscle in my body locked.
My attorney had already obtained a temporary order restricting Seth’s access because of threats he made after leaving the gala. School security had been informed. Private guards were stationed near every entrance.
I drove there anyway.
By the time I arrived, police cars lined the curb.
Seth stood beside one with his hands cuffed behind him.
He had approached the playground and tried to persuade Sunny to leave through a side gate.
My little girl stood twenty yards away in her teacher’s arms.
“Mommy!”
I ran to her.
Sunny buried her face against my shoulder.
“Daddy said we were getting ice cream,” she whispered. “But he looked scary.”
I held her tighter.
Behind us, Seth shouted my name.
I did not turn around.
That was the last moment any remaining doubt disappeared.
Whatever pity I had once felt for him could never come before my children’s safety.
The legal proceedings moved quickly because the evidence was overwhelming. The affair mattered to our divorce, but the criminal investigation focused on something larger: unauthorized transfers, falsified invoices, blackmail payments, and deliberate misuse of corporate funds.
Zena eventually admitted she had pursued Seth partly because she believed he owned Starlight. Seth admitted approving transfers after she threatened to expose their affair.
Neither confession excused the other.
At the divorce hearing, Seth looked smaller than I remembered.
His attorney argued that he deserved his five-percent company stake because he had served as CEO.
Seth suddenly stood.
“I ran that company while she stayed home!”
The courtroom became quiet.
“You were changing diapers,” he said to me. “I was in the boardroom.”
I rose slowly.
“Yes,” I said. “I was changing diapers.”
His attorney shifted uncomfortably.
“I was also reviewing quarterly reports at three in the morning while feeding our son. I wrote Starlight’s original technology. I raised its capital. I hired the executive team. I gave you the CEO seat because I believed marriage meant building each other up.”
Seth stared at me.
“You thought sitting in the chair meant you built the chair.”
The judge enforced our prenuptial agreement and ordered restitution connected to the missing corporate funds. Custody arrangements placed the children with me while Seth dealt with the consequences of violating the protective order and the pending financial charges.
Months later, both Seth and Zena accepted plea agreements rather than take the financial-crime case to trial.
Seth received a prison sentence.
Zena did too.
Neither outcome felt victorious.
A marriage had died. Two children had lost the uncomplicated image they once held of their father. Hundreds of employees had endured uncertainty because two adults confused desire with entitlement.
Still, consequences mattered.
So did rebuilding.
Before Seth was transferred to prison, he asked to see me.
My attorney advised against it.
“You owe him nothing.”
“I know.”
But I went.
The visitation room was divided by scratched plexiglass. Seth entered wearing county-issued clothes, thinner than before, his hair cut close.
He picked up the telephone.
“Lillian.”
“Seth.”
His eyes filled immediately.
“They’re transferring me tomorrow.”
I waited.
“I was wondering if you could help with something.”
Of course.
Even now.
“What?”
“Protective custody. Your attorneys know people. Maybe they could make a call.”
“No.”
His face collapsed.
“You won’t even try?”
“No.”
“We were married seven years.”
“I remember.”
“I held your hand when your father died.”
“I remember that too.”
“Then how can you look at me like this?”
I took a breath.
“I don’t hate you, Seth.”
He seemed almost disappointed.
“I loved you. That’s why this hurt. I gave you every opportunity to become the man you told me you wanted to be.”
He pressed his fingers against the glass.
“Can I see Sunny?”
“Not now.”
His mouth trembled.
“Does she ask about me?”
I could have lied.
I didn’t.
“She asked yesterday if we could remove your photograph from the hallway.”
His eyes closed.
“She said looking at it made her remember me crying.”
Seth bent his head.
I watched his shoulders shake.
For years I had thought closure would look like an apology powerful enough to repair what was broken.
There was no such apology.
There was only acceptance.
“I hope prison changes you,” I said. “Not so you can get me back. You can’t. But because one day your children may want to know who you became after you lost everything.”
He looked up.
“Lillian—”
“Goodbye, Seth.”
I replaced the receiver.
Then I walked away.
