Chapter 1
The scratching of pen on paper was the only sound within the chamber. Jennifer signed the last document, shaking hands, Divorce Decree. Two impersonal little words signifying the end of a storied history evoking once love and laughter.
She placed her pen down slowly, as if to defer the inevitable. Her lawyer-a rather kind woman in her fifties-gave bare rum nod of the head.
“That’s it,” she said. “It is official now.”
Jennifer returned a tight smile. “Thank you,” she murmured.
It was a quiet ride back to her apartment. The driver did not talk much. And Jennifer was thankful for that. Her thoughts were noisy enough.
Her phone buzzed; it was her mother calling. She ignored it. Did not want to hear her usual “You’re strong, sweetheart,” or “It’s for the best.” She really didn’t feel strong. She’s not even sure if this was the best. All she felt was sick and tired.
Walking home, the inside of her apartment felt even heavier than usual. Everything was the same-cream-colored curtains swaying with the breeze, a neat row of books on the shelf and a little potted plant on the kitchen counter-but nothing felt the same.
Without bothering to turn on a single light, she walked straight into her bedroom, unzipped her heels, and let them fall with a soft thud. She peeled off her blazer that had the silk blouse she had so carefully chosen in the morning, still faintly smelling of the perfume Devlin used to compliment. But then paused before stripping it and tossing it into the laundry bin as if shedding a second skin.
The mirror above her dresser caught her eye.
She stared at herself.
Her face was much like it had always been over the last year. But her eyes once sparkled but no longer do. What it holds now is something deeper, sadder, wiser, more guarded than she loved from Devlin.
She walked closer and leaned in. “Who are you now?” It asked itself.
The woman in the mirror wouldn’t answer.
She dabbed away some mascara underneath her eye and opened the drawer to take out an old photo; one of the few she hadn’t burned or packed away. Devlin was smiling there while wrapping his arms around her from behind all drenched in sunlight at one vineyard in Napa Valley. That was their first anniversary.
For a while, she held it, and then her fingers gripped the edges tighter and tighter until it crumpled at one corner.
“I gave you everything,” she whispered. “And you still broke me.”
The are betrayals she never suspected. Devlin had always been charming, successful, and on-fifth. Initially, he had called her his “anchor,” but only he thought could calm his storms. And over time, Devlin’s storms had built up, and she had been caught right in them.
Staying up late at night. Sending secret, suspiciously coded texts. And lying, while he thought she didn’t notice. When the truth came out about the affair, the money he’d sucked out from them both, and the woman half his age; it felt as though death by a thousand cuts rather than just a single blow.
Jennifer placed the photo face down on the dresser. She made no sound; there were no tears. It had been months since she had dried her tears. None left, she thought.
Instead, picking up her glass of water from the nightstand, she drank it slowly, opened the lowest drawer, and reached for the journal she hadn’t looked at in weeks. Flipped to a blank page and began writing.
The doorbell rang.
A frown flickered across her face.
It must be close to 8 p.m., so she wasn’t expecting anybody. Maybe she could still ignore that ringing, but it was back, louder this time, filling up the hallway.
Jennifer stood up, quickly slipping her arms into a robe and tying it firmly at the waist. With light steps, she made her way towards the door. She peered through a peephole.
And her heart stopped.
It was Byron.
Though at this moment, Jennifer felt her senses retreating. Of all the names she could have conjured, Byron was the very last. Byron had always been quiet, polite-a distant figure in her life. Once upon a time-his early years-Byron had been a friend of Devlin’s. Since then, somehow, he had stayed loosely in contact with Jennifer far more than with Devlin.
It would seem she hadn’t laid eyes on Byron for months.
Somehow she was slowly unlocking the door, swinging it open halfway.
“Byron?” she asked, surprised.
Byron’s eyes were calm but searching.
“Hi,” came his low soft soothing voice. “I heard… today was the final signing.”
“Uh-huh,” Jennifer answered, not sure what to say.
“Sorry if I am imposing,” he said quickly and held up a small box wrapped in brown paper. “I just… wanted to drop this-off. This is something you left at the art studio last year. I found it while clearing out a cabinet.”
Jennifer blinked and furrowed her brow in confusion. “The art studio?”
He smiled a little. “You used to come by sometimes. To paint. You left a sketchbook there.”
She opened the door wider. “I forgot all about that.”
He handed her the box, then looked down for a moment. “You look… tired.”
She gave a weak laugh. “That’s a polite way of saying I look like hell.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly. “You look strong. Just… worn.”
There was an awkward pause. Jennifer looked down at the box in her hands, unsure of what to say. Byron had always been hard to read, but kind; she never imagined he would show at her doorstep.
“Well, thank you,” she finally said.
“Of course,” he said, turning slightly away from her.
Something made her stop him.
“Byron?”
He turned back.
