We’re finishing the last bites when another waiter walks by, and Ethan asks him to take a picture of us. Mark straightens what’s left of the cake, turning the candles the right way, and we all pull our chairs closer. Nearly shoulder to shoulder.
He thanks the waiter when he hands the phone back and shows us the photo. Mark is grinning like the fool he is, his armdraped behind Alicia’s chair as she beams at the camera; her brother’s smile is smaller, his arm resting behind mine.
Ethan starts teasing Alicia, claiming she has her eyes closed in every single photo, and it doesn’t take a second for Mark to join in. I just watch them, smiling because I know I don’t need anything else to be happy.
March
Colin
I pull the shirt over my shoulders and button it with trembling fingers.
When I finish, I tuck it into my pants, zip, and button.
Shoes. Tie. Watch. The cologne Ceci gave me for my birthday last year. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block the memories before they break through.
Not today. Please, not today.
I grab my wallet, my keys, and leave the hotel suite. The elevator ride feels too short. I wish the drive were longer—that the traffic would stretch the minutes, give me time to breathe, to delay the inevitable.
But no. Everything moves too smoothly. As if the universe itself has conspired to make this end come faster.
I park a block away and stay in the car for a while, watching people pass, their lives untouched.
When the clock reaches the hour, I start the engine again and drive the rest of the way. As soon as I park and step out, I draw in a deep breath. It takes everything I have not to turn around, get back in the car, and just drive.
But I keep walking.
Inside the lobby, I find my lawyer waiting, his assistant beside him.
He nods once. “She and her lawyer are already upstairs.”
My throat tightens. The words sound distant, muffled.
I nod and follow them to the elevator. I keep my fists clenched, my eyes fixed on the display with each floor that brings me closer to the end.
The moment I step into the room, I see her.
She’s sitting in the middle—her lawyer on one side, an assistant on the other. Ceci turns her head toward the door and gives me a small nod. That’s all. No smile. No words. Just that.
Everyone stands, hands are shaken, seats are taken. And then it’s her and me… across the table, across what’s left of our life.
My heart is a hammer in my chest. I take her in piece by piece. The white coat with black buttons, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail, small earrings, barely any makeup, freckles still visible.
Beautiful.Still so impossibly beautiful. Just like the first time I saw her.
I can’t do this.
Our lawyers start reviewing the Marital Settlement Agreement. I don’t interrupt. I don’t contest anything. Everything is divided equally. The house we lived in for almost fifteen years goes to me. She doesn’t want it anymore. She thinks it’ll be better for the kids to start fresh somewhere else.
She refused spousal support—that one burned. Because there’s nothing I wouldn’t have given her, if she’d only asked. I know the blog is profitable, and the investments I made for her are still performing well. But I wanted to do this for her.
Money wouldn’t fix anything, but it’s the only thing I have left to give.
We agreed on Sole Physical Custody with Joint Legal Custody. The kids will still live with her. I’ll see Alicia three times a week, and she’ll spend two weekends with me—Friday through Sunday.
Ethan, at seventeen—and under New York law—is still considered a minor, so he’s technically included in the agreement, but only as a formality, for child support purposes. No judge would ever force him at his age, and I won’t be the one to do it either.
Even with the agreement in place, I won’t make either of them do anything they don’t want to.
