Chapter Twenty-One: The Dissolution
The conference room was too bright.
Jack sat across from Leena and her lawyers—two of them, both in expensive suits—and tried to focus on what they were saying. But the fluorescent lights made everything feel overexposed, clinical. Like a hospital.
Leena wouldn't look at him.
She sat with her hands folded on the table, staring at a spot somewhere past his left shoulder. She'd dressed carefully—a navy blouse, slacks, minimal makeup. Professional. Like she was attending a business meeting.
Like they were strangers.
"Mr. Morrison," the lead attorney said, sliding a document across the table. "We've reviewed the proposed settlement, and my client has decided she cannot accept a fifty-fifty division of assets."
Jack's attorney—a tired-looking man named Patterson who'd come recommended by a coworker—frowned. "I'm sorry, what?"
"My client is entitled to the marital home, all savings accounts, retirement funds, and investment portfolios in their entirety."
"That's—" Patterson started.
"Everything," the attorney continued smoothly. "In exchange, Mrs. Morrison will waive any claim to alimony or future support."
Jack felt nothing. Just a strange, distant numbness.
"That's completely unreasonable," Patterson said. "Mr. Morrison has every right to—"
"We have evidence," the second attorney said, opening a folder. "Evidence of Mr. Morrison's infidelity, his violent behavior, and his abandonment of the marriage. If this goes to court, we're confident a judge will rule in Mrs. Morrison's favor. This offer is generous."
"Violent behavior?" Patterson looked at Jack. "What are they talking about?"
Jack knew. The punch. Rider had filed a police report. Of course he had.
"And the infidelity?" Patterson pressed.
The lead attorney smiled thinly. "We have video evidence of Mr. Morrison engaging in sexual acts with multiple women. Very explicit video evidence. If necessary, we'll present it in court. Along with testimony from witnesses who can confirm his pattern of reckless, destructive behavior."
Jack's stomach turned. They had video of him at the orgy. Of course they did. Rider had filmed everything.
But that wasn't what this was about.
This was about Leena's video. The one Rider had made her record. The one where she'd said terrible things about Jack, agreed to destroy him.
This was the leverage.
"Leena," Jack said quietly.
She didn't move. Didn't look at him.
"Leena, please."
Nothing.
"My client has nothing to say to you," the attorney said. "Do you accept the terms, or do we proceed to litigation?"
Patterson looked at Jack, waiting.
Jack stared at Leena. At the woman he'd married. The woman he'd loved. The woman who was now sitting across from him, silent and cold, while her lawyers stripped him of everything.
"Jack," Patterson said. "We can fight this. We can—"
"No."
"What?"
"I'll sign."
"Jack, you don't have to—"
"I'll sign." Jack's voice was flat. Empty. "Just give me the papers."
Patterson hesitated, then slid the documents across the table.
Jack signed. Every page. Every line. He didn't read them. Didn't care what they said.
When he was done, he pushed the papers back across the table.
"We're done here," the lead attorney said, gathering the documents. "Mrs. Morrison will arrange to collect her belongings from the residence within the week. Please ensure you're not present during that time."
Jack nodded.
Leena stood. She picked up her purse, smoothed her blouse, and walked toward the door.
She didn't look back.
Didn't say goodbye.
Didn't acknowledge him at all.
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Jack sat there, staring at the empty chair where she'd been sitting.
Patterson was saying something—something about appeals, about reconsidering, about not making decisions in the heat of the moment.
Jack didn't hear him.
He stood and walked out of the conference room.
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He sat in his car in the parking garage for twenty minutes.
He should feel something. Anger. Pain. Betrayal.
But there was nothing. Just a vast, empty silence where his emotions used to be.
His phone was in his hand before he realized he'd taken it out.
He called Bella.
It rang twice. Then a man's voice answered.
"Hello?"
Jack's throat closed.
"Hello?" the voice said again. Ronald. That was Ronald's voice.
"Why are you—" Jack started.
"Who is this?" Ronald asked. There was amusement in his tone. "Why are you calling Bella's phone?"
Jack heard water running in the background. A shower.
"She's busy right now," Ronald continued. "Can I take a message?"
Jack hung up.
He sat there, staring at his phone, feeling the last thread of hope snap.
Bella. His one friend. His one ally. The one person who'd understood.
She was with Ronald.
Of course she was.
Everyone was with someone. Everyone had moved on.
Everyone except him.
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The bar was called Murphy's. Jack had never been there before. He'd just driven until he saw neon and a parking spot.
It was dark inside. Quiet. A few regulars at the bar, a couple in a booth in the back.
Jack sat at the bar and ordered a whiskey.
Then another.
Then another.
He wasn't trying to get drunk. Wasn't trying to forget. He was just sitting there, drinking, because he didn't know what else to do.
The bartender—a woman in her fifties with kind eyes—kept refilling his glass without comment.
By the sixth drink, Jack's hands were shaking.
By the eighth, he was staring at nothing.
"Hey," the bartender said gently. "I think you've had enough."
Jack looked at her. "One more."
"I can't do that. You need to call someone. Get a ride home."
"I don't have anyone to call."
"Then I'll call you a cab."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine." She took his glass. "I'm cutting you off. You can sit here as long as you want, but no more drinks."
Jack stood. The room tilted slightly, but he steadied himself.
"Thanks," he said.
He walked out into the night.
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He got in his car.
He knew he shouldn't drive. Knew it was dangerous, stupid, reckless.
He didn't care.
He started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.
The city blurred past him. Streetlights, buildings, people. All of it meaningless.
He pressed the accelerator.
Faster.
The speedometer climbed. Forty. Fifty. Sixty.
He ran a red light. Then another.
Somewhere behind him, he heard sirens.
He didn't slow down.
He turned onto the highway, weaving between cars, his hands gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles were white.
The sirens got louder.
He took the exit toward the cliffs. The bridge where he'd sat with Bella. Where they'd talked about starting over.
The road curved sharply, and Jack took it too fast. The tires squealed. For a moment, he thought the car would flip.
It didn't.
He reached the bridge and slammed on the brakes.
The car skidded to a stop in the middle of the road.
Jack got out.
The sirens were close now. Maybe a few seconds away.
He walked to the edge of the bridge and looked down.
The water was black. Endless.
He thought about Leena. About the way she'd refused to look at him. About the silence.
He thought about Bella. About Ronald answering her phone.
He thought about his empty house. His empty life.
He thought about how there was nothing left. Nothing to fight for. Nothing to hope for.
The sirens were right behind him now. Red and blue lights flashing.
Jack climbed over the railing.
"Sir! Stop!"
He didn't stop.
He jumped.
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The first thing Jack felt was pain.
Everywhere. His chest, his legs, his head. A deep, throbbing agony that made him want to scream.
He tried to open his eyes. Couldn't.
Voices. Beeping. The smell of antiseptic.
Hospital.
He was in a hospital.
I'm alive.
The thought was followed immediately by crushing disappointment.
He tried to move. Couldn't. Something was holding him down. Restraints, maybe. Or just his own broken body.
"Jack."
The voice was soft. Familiar.
He forced his eyes open.
Bella was sitting beside his bed. Her face was pale, her eyes red from crying.
"You're awake," she said. "Thank God."
Jack tried to speak. His throat was raw, his voice barely a whisper. "How—"
"You survived the fall. Barely. You broke three ribs, fractured your leg, and had a severe concussion. The doctors said you're lucky to be alive."
"Lucky," Jack repeated. The word tasted bitter.
"You made the news," Bella said quietly. "Man jumps from bridge, survives. It's been all over the local stations."
Jack closed his eyes. Of course. Even his suicide attempt was a failure.
"Why are you here?" he asked.
"I saw the news. I came as soon as I could." Bella's hand found his. "Jack, I'm so sorry. About Ronald. About everything. I didn't know he was going to answer my phone. I didn't—"
"It's fine."
"It's not fine. You tried to kill yourself."
"I failed at that too."
"Don't." Bella's voice broke. "Don't say that. Please."
Jack opened his eyes and looked at her. Really looked at her.
She was crying. Not just tears—full, body-shaking sobs.
"I thought I lost you," she whispered. "I thought—God, Jack, I thought you were dead."
"Maybe I should be."
"No." Bella squeezed his hand. "No. You're here. You're alive. And we're going to get through this."
"There's nothing to get through. I have nothing left."
"You have me."
Jack stared at her. "What?"
"You have me," Bella repeated. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. And we're going to figure this out together."
"Bella—"
"I left Ronald. For good this time. I'm done with him. Done with all of it." She wiped her eyes. "And I'm not letting you give up. Do you hear me? I'm not letting you die."
Jack felt something crack inside him. Not breaking—just shifting. Making room for something new.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because you're my friend. Because I care about you. Because—" She hesitated. "Because I think we could be something. If you want to be."
Jack closed his eyes again. The pain was still there. The emptiness. The loss.
But there was something else now too.
A thread. Thin and fragile, but real.
Hope.
"Okay," he whispered.
"Okay?"
"Okay. I'll try."
Bella leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "That's all I'm asking."
They sat there in silence, her hand in his, and for the first time since the conference room, Jack felt something other than numbness.
He felt alive.
Broken, but alive.
And maybe that was enough.