Richard shaved his wife’s head on their tenth anniversary

Six months later.

The spring sun rose over the south branch of the Chicago River in a breathtaking explosion of honey-colored gold, warming the limestone yards of Prescott Materials.

My hair had grown back.

Not long and soft like the hair I had worn for fifteen years to please Richard, but a short, textured, silver-streaked pixie cut that framed my jawline like armor. It took two minutes to dry. It required no appointments, no curlers, and no apologies.

I stood on the newly constructed timber deck of the Arthur Prescott Maritime Center, holding a cup of black coffee, watching two hundred union mechanics, crane operators, and dispatchers prepare for the morning shift.

Beside me stood Barnaby, an eight-month-old golden retriever puppy that Mathilde had rescued from a shelter in Cicero three weeks ago. Barnaby was leaning his heavy chin against my work boot, his tail thumping a steady, joyful rhythm against the cedar planks.

"Morning, boss!" shouted Frank, our master welder, waving a gloved hand from the cab of an idling hydraulic crane.

"Morning, Frank!" I called back, smiling as the crane hoisted a twenty-ton steel beam toward the barge slip. "Keep the hydraulic lines clear on Berth Four!"

Mathilde walked up the deck steps, wearing a comfortable wool sweater over slacks, holding a manila folder stamped with the gold seal of the Illinois Department of Corrections.

"Richard’s formal sentencing hearing concluded an hour ago, Claire," Mathilde said, leaning against the railing beside me.

"And?"

"Fourteen years at Stateville, zero eligibility for parole until year eleven. Evelyn Cross entered a guilty plea this morning—five years probation and full restitution of the four hundred thousand she laundered through Zurich."

I took a slow, leisurely sip of my coffee, feeling the cool river breeze wash over my neck.

"Did Richard say anything to the court?"

"He gave a prepared statement," Mathilde said, a dry smile touching her lips. "He blamed his upbringing. He blamed the corporate culture. He told the judge that his wife had become 'unmanageable' after her father died."

I laughed—a rich, bright, unreserved sound that startled a flock of gulls from the pilings and echoed across the water like music.