(Sean's POV)
I sign the check. The pen moves across the receipt. My signature is steady, legible, unchanged from the one I gave the divorce lawyer three months ago. Steady hands.
"I did," I say. I look at her when I say it, because she has earned eye contact. "Six years too late, and once, on my knees, on camera. You may have seen it."
Recognition flickers behind her eyes. Her chin lifts slightly, her lips part. She may have seen it. The vigil trended for three days. A billionaire CEO kneeling on plaza pavement outside his ex-wife's workplace — cameras loved it. The internet did not forget.
She does not ask a follow-up. She picks up her purse. She thanks me for dinner with the grace of a woman who has decided to leave the diagnosis where it lies.
We stand. We walk to the entrance. The
