After the Divorce, I Belong to Him

The anger in me cooled all at once.

All that was left was a single thought: Walter and I were really over.

Once that settled in my mind, I didn't linger. I turned and walked away.

Those bags were things I'd bought with Walter's money anyway. If they were thrown out, then they were thrown out.

Call it starting over.

I thought about it and decided to check into a hotel for the night before looking for a place. But the moment I reached the entrance of the complex, I saw Harrison Shaw's car still parked where it had been.

Before I could even be surprised, he rolled down the window. "Miss Fox, I haven't left yet. Want me to give you a lift again?"

I wasn't a naive girl anymore. In an instant I understood that Harrison's intentions weren't so simple.

But he'd helped me so much that I couldn't very well refuse.

So I got in and said, a little distantly, "Thank you."

When he heard I wanted a hotel, Harrison didn't ask anything more. Like a perfect gentleman, he dropped me at the door and left.

I kept my guard up. After he was gone, I took a cab to a bed-and-breakfast six miles away and settled in there instead.

Once I was settled, I started planning out the days ahead.

I didn't have much money on hand. I couldn't just sit and burn through it. I needed to work.

But when it came to sending out my résumé, I ran into trouble.

My education wasn't bad, but I'd married Walter right out of school and spent five years as a housewife, with no work history at all.

Sure enough, every résumé I sent out sank without a trace.

I searched like that for a month, and just as I was about to give up, I suddenly got a message from an HR rep.

She told me that although I didn't meet the requirements for the position I'd applied to, the company's staff cafeteria was short a cook, and she'd seen on my résumé that I loved cooking. She asked whether I'd be willing to take the job.

Full benefits, meals and housing included.

I agreed at once.

After graduating, so I could take better care of Walter, I'd signed up for a cooking class on my own.

The first time I made a whole table of dishes, Walter took one look and burst into tears.

He said, "Greta, being with me has made you suffer."

Smiling, I said, "It's no suffering. I do it gladly."

That day Walter finished the entire table of food, then lay on the bed too stuffed to move.

Later, he complained that my cooking was bland and tasteless, and every meal I brought him went straight into the trash.

I lowered my eyes and tucked those ugly memories away.

At least, I thought, all those years with Walter hadn't been for nothing.

If nothing else, I'd trained myself into a good cook.

On my first day, HR took me to the staff housing first.

Looking at the studio apartment in front of me, I felt a little dazed.

When I pushed the door open, I couldn't believe it.

The five-hundred-square-foot apartment came with brand-new appliances, even a dishwasher.

I'd never worked before, but even I knew staff housing usually didn't look like this.

She seemed to catch my confusion and quickly explained.

"This building was put up specifically to retain top talent. It just opened for move-in. The cafeteria staff dorms are full right now, so you'll stay here for now, and once a spot opens up over there, you can move back."

The worry hanging over me eased.

After that came the official start.

I settled in fairly well. On my very first day, the dishes I made had the employees who came to eat raving.

I couldn't help but smile.

Just then, I suddenly heard a familiar voice.

"Miss Fox, what are you doing here?"

Harrison Shaw?

How had I run into him again?

I pushed down the confusion in my chest and said, "I work here."