I looked up at Lucien, then Florin. Both nodded.
“Mark contacted us a week ago,” Lucien said. “He asked us to witness this. To ensure he couldn’t back out.”
Florin leaned forward. “Amelia, Mark has made it clear that he’s willing to give you as much time as you need. He understands you may continue seeing us. He understands you may ultimately choose not to stay with him.” His blue eyes were serious. “This is not manipulation. This is a man trying to earn back what he threw away.”
I looked at Mark.
“Amelia, I fucked up.” His voice broke. “I fucked up so badly.”
He stood and came around the table, and before I could react, he was hugging me, his face buried in my shoulder.
And he wept like a child.
His whole body shook with sobs. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
I felt his tears soaking through my blouse, his hands clutching at me like I was the only thing keeping him from drowning.
And I felt something crack open in my chest.
This was the man I’d fallen in love with as a junior in college. The lanky, nerdy, awkward boy from the dorm across the street who’d spilled coffee on me in the library and spent twenty minutes apologizing.
My first love. My only love, really.
These last six months with Lucien and Florin had been incredible. The sex, the pampering, the way they’d made me feel seen and valued—it had been transformative.
But Mark... Mark was the father of my children. The man who’d held my hand through two pregnancies. Who’d built me a pottery studio with his own hands. Who’d stayed up all night when Noah had croup. Who’d been my partner through fifteen years of life.
My heart still beat for him. Still hurt for him. Still wept for him.
I loved him.
And this gesture—this contract, this public declaration, this complete surrender of power—had melted something in me that I’d thought was frozen solid.
I looked at Lucien, who gave me an almost imperceptible nod and mouthed, “Forgive him.”
I looked at Florin, whose smile was filled with understanding and love.
In that moment, I felt so loved. So supported. By all three of them.
These two extraordinary men who could have kept me for themselves were encouraging me to forgive my husband.
Because they loved me enough to want what was best for me.
Tears spilled down my cheeks.
I pulled back from Mark’s embrace and looked into his red, swollen eyes.
“I forgive you,” I said.
Mark’s breath paused, hope and disbelief coloring his face.
“And I accept you back.” I said.
“Really?” Mark’s voice was barely a whisper. “Really?”
I nodded, and realised I was also crying.
He lifted me off my feet—and spun me around right there in the café, laughing and crying at the same time.
