Kairo stepped into his family’s real estate empire with a future already paved, so it only made sense for me to walk into the same world professionally. Not because it was the dream, but because it was the logic of our life together. Becoming a real estate attorney wasn’t the plan at 18, but at 33, it was the bridge meant for our partnership. It was the specialty that aligned with our marriage, our legacy, and direction. I really only practiced when I was needed, when I wanted, and when the scale of my life allowed me to pour into something outside of my home. My dad had already given me the biggest perk of all—choice. He was the main reason that I pushed Kairo and I to give Kennedi the life that our parents gave us.
The walls of my office held framed memories. Photos of me and Kairo over the years. Graduation. Parenthood. Engagement. Marriage. Growth. All milestones captured in glossy prints.
I walked toward the picture that always made me pause. It was the one taken when Kennedi turned 5. Kairo was kneeling beside her birthday cake, so proud. I was standing behind them, hand resting on his shoulder, so happy. That was also the year he started missing our date nights.
I remembered thinking,It’s a phase. We’re adjusting to his dreams. He’ll come back around.
I should’ve paid closer attention back then, but love had made me patient. Maybe too patient.
My eyes drifted toward our wedding portrait. We were young parents still in college. Everyone told us to wait until after undergrad, but we didn’t. We got married anyway, because we thought love was the thing you secure first and everything else would fall in line behind it. In the photo, I was big and pregnant. I remembered how he used to put Kennedi to bed so we could watch movies together. The days when desire, attention, and love didn’t have business hours.
I sat down at my desk, tracing a finger along the selfie of us at Kennedi’s cheer competition before picking up my phone.
I dialed his number and ofcourse, no answer. My phone buzzed seconds later.
Kairo:In a meeting. Can I call later? Are you okay?
I typed back, thumb moving gently across the screen.
I’m fine. Just wanted to tell you good morning.
His reply came almost instantly:
Kairo:Meet me home for lunch?
I replied so fast because I was excited to get some alone time with him, even if it was only for lunch.
Ok baby.
I sank into my desk chair, scrolling to the contact labeled as Coffee. My best friend since elementary school. The one person who knew every version of me—the science fair me, the cheer captain me, the terrified pregnant me, the love-drunk young mom me, and the woman staring at a lonely marriage.
She answered on the second ring.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” her voice purred through the line.
I smirked. “Good morning, my sweet Coffee.”
Coffee wasn’t her real name, but it may as well have been. Growing up, all she ever wanted was to drink coffee like the adults, so the name stuck and followed her through life.
“How’s the firm?” I asked.
“The firm is fine,” she said breezily. “I’m sitting on my rooftop now, enjoying the view before I head in. I’ve got two meetings today.”
Coffee was the woman who had men trembling when they heard her heels clicking down a hallway. She was a well-known divorce attorney. Ruthless, brilliant, and dangerous in negotiation. She specialized in extracting justice for women whose marriages had failed them. Most of her clients were married to millionaires with crazy prenups, but Coffee and her dream team of women didn’t play fair. They dug and investigated until they could unearth the darkest, dirtiest secrets those men prayed stayed buried. And leverage like that could make a courtroom tilt, a prenup fold, or a man sign a settlement faster than he could think.
To most men, she was known simply as “Ms. Bitch”, and she loved it.
“You still haven’t gotten some dick from Kairo’s bald-headed ass?” she snickered.
I laughed, rolling my eyes. “I got some yesterday morning.”
“Oh?” she teased. “Well, great. We love progress.”
“But it wasn’t enough,” I said quickly, cutting her off. “I miss going round after round.”
“Bitch, who is still fucking four rounds back to back in their thirties?”
“I can do it,” I said, serious. “I miss the quality time, and sex is the only time that I get his undivided attention, so maybe that’s why I want it so much now.”
