Chapter 7 - The Search
Marcus lost the house two months later. He sold off the furniture, paid down what debt he could, and moved into a cramped, one-bedroom apartment in a much less desirable part of Phoenix.
He started working weekends, trying to rebuild the life he had so carelessly destroyed. But the physical exhaustion was nothing compared to the immense, crushing weight of his guilt.
He realized he didn't even know where I was. He had hired a private investigator using the last of his savings, but actuaries know how to disappear on paper. I had set up a PO Box, formed an LLC to rent my apartment, and instructed Evelyn Vance to deny any requests for my contact information.
Marcus began spending his free time visiting the places I used to frequent before I moved in with him. He went to the old hardware store where I used to buy tools. He sat in the park where I used to read the Sunday paper. He realized, with a sickening twist in his stomach, how little he actually knew about my life. He didn't know my favorite book. He didn't know what I dreamed of doing in retirement. He had only ever viewed me as an extension of his own convenience.
One rainy afternoon, Marcus sat in Evelyn Vance’s office, looking desperate and worn down.
“Please, Ms. Vance,” Marcus begged. “I don’t want his money. I don't want a dime. I signed the divorce papers with Elena. I lost the house. I just need to tell my dad that I’m sorry. Please, just give him a letter.”
May you like
Evelyn, a shrewd woman who had seen every type of family drama imaginable, studied Marcus over the rim of her glasses. She saw the dark circles under his eyes, the frayed cuffs of his shirt, and the genuine remorse in his posture.
“Leave the letter on the desk, Mr. Pendelton,” she said softly. “I will ensure he receives it. But whether he replies is entirely up to him.”
