“Sorry to call so late,” he said.
The laugh vanished. What came back was open hostility. “A whole year after you tossed a human being aside, and now you call? To apologize? Bit late for that, don’t you think?”
“No, it’s not that. I wanted to ask about Valerie…”
The air on the line seemed to freeze. A pause followed—brief, but dangerous.
“What did you just say?” Marina asked, her voice dropping low enough to make his skin go cold. “You want to know about Valerie? After a year of silence?”
“Do you have any idea what nerve that takes?”
“Marina, please,” he said, his voice slipping into a whisper. “I need to reach her. It’s serious.”
“Serious?” she said. “What, your budget finally collapsed? Need someone to bankroll your next big move?”
Then her tone sharpened. “Wait. You’re sick, aren’t you?”
He fell silent. She had guessed immediately.
“I knew it,” Marina said. “I absolutely knew it. You and your mother are the same—parasites. Always looking for someone else to carry the load.”
“Marina, just let me explain—”
“I don’t care about your explanation,” she cut in. “Here’s what you need to know: she’s doing just fine. She rebuilt her life after you ran over it. And she doesn’t spend her time thinking about people like you. Don’t call me again. Don’t call her.”
The line went dead.
Ethan stared at the dark screen. “Marina, wait…”
He tried calling back, but he had already been blocked.
He threw the phone onto the couch and began pacing. The one bridge he had left had just gone up in flames.
Rita emerged from the bedroom, eyes red. “What happened? Did you find someone to help?”
“Just stop talking,” he snapped. “This is partly your fault. If you hadn’t spent years in my ear, we might never have divorced.”
“My fault?” Rita shot back. “You wanted it too. You were ashamed of her!”
There was no point arguing. He grabbed the phone again. Calls were blocked, but there were still messages.
His fingers shook as he typed.
“Marina, your anger is justified. I was awful. But this is about my life.”
He hit send.
An hour later, the screen lit up.
A reply.
His pulse jumped. He opened it.
There was no address. No offer of help. Just one paragraph:
“Do you really think Valerie is still the same woman? The same naive fool you could wipe your feet on? Do you think she’ll come running because you finally called? You really haven’t learned a thing.”
He sank down onto the floor.
Then a second message came in.
“She has a full schedule at her charitable foundation today and no time to waste on human garbage. If you want to live, figure it out yourself. Stop hiding behind women.”
One phrase lodged in his brain.
Her charitable foundation.
His ex-wife had a foundation? The same “ordinary” woman he had dismissed?
It had to be an exaggeration. A cruel joke.
Fighting the tremor in his hands, he opened his laptop.
His left eye had deteriorated so badly he had to lean close to the screen. He typed in her name and the words Marina had used.
The search results stopped him cold.
This was not a social media page or a small nonprofit website. It was a polished, expensive corporate site.
The Valerie Martin Foundation.
His heart skipped.
He clicked.
The homepage radiated money and restraint. At the top was a photo of the founder.
The old Valerie was gone. In her place was a poised, successful woman in a tailored navy suit, hair styled simply and well. She stood in front of a sleek glass office building, looking calm, capable, and entirely out of reach.
Next to her was a metal sign with the foundation’s name. The slogan read: “Investing in Lives. Building Tomorrow.”
With shaking fingers, he scrolled.
The text read: “Founded by Valerie Martin, author of the bestselling memoir Rising from Ashes.”
A bestselling memoir.
He kept scrolling until he reached the section on the foundation’s programs. One line hit him like a punch.
“Project Spark: grants for education and full funding of emergency surgeries for promising medical students from low-income families.”
The laptop nearly slipped from his hands.
His throat went dry.
This couldn’t be real.
The woman he had discarded for not fitting his image now ran an organization that saved people exactly like him. The irony was almost too much to bear.
