Chapter 7 - The Truth Selina Finally Told
Selina accepted extradition because prosecutors had financial records strong enough to make resistance pointless.
Her first interview lasted six hours.
Rebecca summarized it for me afterward.
“She admits the affair.”
“Obviously.”
“She admits Northstar.”
“Good.”
“She admits using Flynn’s credentials.”
“Better.”
“She admits taking the necklace through Vance Global.”
I stared.
“What does that mean?”
“She says Flynn authorized the purchase but believed it came from his personal executive allowance.”
“So he still bought it.”
“Yes.”
That hurt.
I had not expected it to stop hurting simply because bigger crimes existed.
Rebecca continued.
“But she says Flynn did not know about most Northstar diversions.”
I nodded.
We already suspected that.
“Anything else?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“What?”
“She saved messages.”
My stomach tightened.
“Between them?”
“Yes.”
I did not want to see them.
Then I realized I needed to.
Not for criminal reasons.
For me.
Rebecca resisted.
I insisted.
The messages were ugly.
Not sexually explicit.
Worse.
Intimate.
Selina mocking my budget meals.
Flynn complaining that I asked too many questions about spending.
Selina calling me “domesticated.”
One exchange stopped me.
SELINA: She used to work in finance, right?
FLYNN: A long time ago.
SELINA: Does she miss it?
FLYNN: Probably.
SELINA: Aren’t you worried she’ll go back?
Long pause.
Then Flynn:
Sometimes.
I stared.
Rebecca looked at me.
“You okay?”
“No.”
Another exchange.
SELINA: She’d leave if she knew what you spend.
Flynn:
She won’t. Clara keeps her grounded.
My skin went cold.
Clara.
Not love.
Not trust.
Dependence.
Selina replied:
Then don’t let her get too independent.
Flynn:
Relax. I handle the money.
I closed the file.
That was the worst part.
Not St. Barts.
Not the necklace.
Not even the affair.
He knew.
Some part of him knew he was keeping me small.
Later messages changed.
As Selina stole more, she began manipulating Flynn too.
Telling him I was unstable.
Encouraging him to reduce household access because I might “use money emotionally.”
Suggesting he transfer assets.
He listened because the advice aligned with what he already wanted.
Control.
That mattered.
Manipulation did not erase responsibility.
A week later, Flynn asked to meet.
Public café.
His idea.
Another change.
He looked at my face and knew immediately.
“You saw the messages.”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I am not saying that to end the conversation.”
I waited.
“I knew what I was doing.”
My throat tightened.
“I told myself I was managing household money responsibly.”
He laughed bitterly.
“That was a lie.”
“Yes.”
“I liked that you depended on me.”
There it was.
Clean.
Terrible.
“I hated competing with you professionally.”
“We were married.”
“I know.”
“Marriage isn’t a competition.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
He almost smiled sadly.
“Right.”
I looked at him.
“Why did you want me dependent?”
He took a long time.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That if you had your own money, your own career, your own world…”
He looked directly at me.
“You might realize you didn’t need me.”
The irony was so complete I almost laughed.
“So you made sure I needed you.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s what made me leave.”
“Yes.”
We sat in silence.
Then he said something I did not expect.
“I’m not asking you to come back.”
Good.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me.”
Better.
“I’m asking you to divorce me.”
I stared.
“What?”
His eyes filled.
“You haven’t filed because you’re still deciding whether change means anything.”
My chest tightened.
“How do you know that?”
“Rebecca told my attorney nothing.”
“Then?”
“I know you.”
I almost corrected him.
Then stopped.
He continued.
“I need to stop treating your uncertainty like an opportunity.”
That was therapy talking.
I could tell.
But it was also him.
“If someday you choose me again, I don’t want it to be because our marriage never legally ended.”
I stared.
“I want you to be free of every financial and legal tie you didn’t choose.”
My eyes burned.
“Flynn.”
“I’m transferring half my marital assets under the settlement Rebecca proposed.”
“You fought that two months ago.”
“I was wrong.”
“You’re giving up the house?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You and Clara should keep it if you want.”
“I don’t.”
That surprised him.
Neither did I, until I said it.
The house felt like a museum of a marriage that had stopped being honest.
“I want something else.”
He nodded.
“Then sell it.”
“We?”
His expression softened.
“If you want.”
I looked at him.
“You’re really asking for divorce?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want one?”
His face broke.
“No.”
That honesty hurt.
“But I think wanting you is different from having a right to keep you.”
I looked away.
For a long time, I could not speak.
Then I nodded.
“Okay.”
His eyes closed.
One tear escaped.
He wiped it quickly.
We filed jointly the following week.
No courtroom war.
No hidden accounts.
No custody fight.
Flynn received three nights with Clara one week, four the next.
Flexible holidays.
Shared school decisions.
Independent finances.
My Vance Global shares remained mine.
His remained his.
The house sold.
I bought a brick home in Brookline with sunlight in the kitchen and a small garden Clara immediately claimed for strawberries.
Flynn rented first.
Then bought a townhouse nearby.
The divorce became final nine months after the video call.
I walked out of the courthouse feeling both devastated and lighter than I had in years.
Flynn stood beside me.
Not touching.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
We both laughed sadly.
Then Clara ran toward us from Grace’s car.
She grabbed both our hands.
“Can we get pancakes?”
Flynn looked at me.
I looked at him.
“Pancakes,” I said.
So we went.
Divorced.
Complicated.
Still a family.
Not the same family.
May you like
But perhaps, eventually, a healthier one.
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