Chapter 24
Preston became eligible for supervised release several years later.
Giulietta learned because Naomi told her.
Not because Preston contacted her.
“He has complied with the no-contact restriction,” Naomi said.
“Good.”
“He asked his lawyer whether that continues after release.”
“What did the lawyer say?”
“That unless you change it, yes.”
“Good.”
Naomi watched her.
“That’s all?”
“What else?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then excellent meeting.”
Giulietta returned to work.
She thought about him later.
That annoyed her.
Not because she missed him exactly.
Memory was less obedient than that.
She remembered a restaurant in Manhattan where Preston had stolen olives from her plate.
A winter drive.
The way he once waited three hours outside a hospital while she visited an injured employee because she refused to cancel dinner.
Good memories had once frightened her.
They felt like evidence against the truth of the bridal suite.
Years had changed that.
Preston could have been kind on Tuesday and dangerous on Friday.
One did not erase the other.
He had not spent every day pretending to be someone else.
He had become someone who believed love would eventually entitle him to obedience.
That was worse in a quieter way.
A month after his release, Elaine called Giulietta.
“He asked to see me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
Giulietta waited.
Elaine laughed softly.
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“No.”
“You’ve improved.”
“I charge for advice now.”
Elaine eventually met Preston in a therapist’s office.
She told Giulietta only because the fund board needed to reschedule a meeting.
No details.
Giulietta did not ask.
Three months later, Elaine said:
“I’m seeing him again.”
“Okay.”
“You really aren’t curious?”
“I’m extremely curious.”
“Then why not ask?”
“Because curiosity is not permission.”
Elaine smiled.
“That should be printed over your security department.”
Their relationship remained strange.
Not friendship exactly.
Not family.
Two women connected by a man who had harmed one after watching the other be harmed.
Neither wanted that connection to define every conversation.
They discussed housing grants.
Employment protections.
Bad coffee.
Once, Elaine asked whether Giulietta had read Preston’s letter.
“Yes.”
“Did it help?”
“Some.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Some.”
“Did you answer?”
“No.”
Elaine nodded.
“He thinks you didn’t.”
“He’s correct.”
“He says not knowing is part of the consequence.”
Giulietta looked at her.
“That sounds rehearsed.”
“He’s in therapy.”
“Obviously.”
They both laughed.
Then Elaine became serious.
“He is different.”
Giulietta did not argue.
People could change.
The existence of change did not create a path back into every life they had damaged.
“I hope he is,” Giulietta said.
“You don’t want to see?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
Giulietta thought.
“I don’t know.”
That was the first time the answer had not been immediate.
Elaine did not interpret uncertainty as invitation.
Another lesson learned.
A year passed.
Then another.
Preston sent no second letter.
He worked.
Continued treatment.
Rebuilt limited contact with Elaine.
Stayed away from Giulietta.
The absence slowly stopped feeling like pressure.
One evening, Giulietta removed his first letter from the drawer.
She placed it in a private archive box with the old wedding schedule, copies of the guarantee documents, and Warren’s contingency PR statement.
Not because the letter was evidence.
Because it belonged to that period of her life.
She did not place the engagement ring there.
That was gone.
Converted into legal hours.
Hotel rooms.
Emergency deposits.
Doors other people had been able to walk through.
Some objects became history.
May you like
Some became resources.
Some did not need to survive at all.
