Aaron
That’s only part of it. I really do want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep holding you every night.
Me
As much as I would love to do that, I have cases pending. You’ll be back soon, and then we’ll definitely make up for lost time.
Aaron
Fine. But I’m counting down the days. I’ve never complained about my career, but now I am. I don’t want to spend any more days away from you when I get back. I will have to start doing NYC signings only if you can’t travel with me. If I’m being honest, I’m ready to cancel the rest of the signings to get back home to you.
I can’t help but laugh, picturing his over-the-top pout. The man who thrives on meeting fans now wants to cut his tour shortjust to be with me. I love knowing he’s just as smitten as I am, though I’m not quite ready to say it out loud.
Me
Your poor suffering fans would be devastated.
Aaron
They’ll survive. My dick, on the other hand…
I almost choke on my own spit.
Me
You’re insane.
Aaron
Only for you. Gotta go, Honeybee, they’re closing the doors. Call you when I land.
Me
Am I not worth the in-flight Wi-Fi?
Aaron
You are, but Tabitha wants to go over some things. We’re heading straight to a signing when I get off the plane.
Me
Well, in that case, have a safe flight. I’ll be waiting for your call.
I set my phone aside, a gentle warmth radiating through me. I lean back, eyes closed, letting Aaron’s words linger like sunlight on my skin. I wish I could bottle this happiness, but I know reality will come crashing in the moment I touch down at JFK.
And in that moment, I will know.
I force my eyes open and, after a moment’s hesitation, pull my laptop from the seatback pocket. I promised myself I wouldn’t check my work email until I landed, but muscle memory taps the Outlook icon. I need to know if Evelyn ever reached out. I skim the inbox and feel a cold bead of sweat at my hairline: three unread messages from Evelyn Hui-Wang, all sent Friday night—10:37 PM, 11:14 PM, and then 1:47 AM Saturday morning. Late-night emails from divorce clients never bode well.
What the hell is happening? Now I wish she hadn’t reached out to me at all. Nothing good is going to come from these emails.
I click the first one. Evelyn’s usual clipped formality has dissolved into a frantic run-on paragraph about how she ‘has been thinking a lot’ and ‘maybe it’s not fair to pin everything on James.’ I skim to the end, searching for the emotional explosion. It’s not there, just the teetering panic of someone desperately clawing at the door for escape. For a moment, I feel nothing but weary frustration. This is textbook. Every year, at least a quarter of my clients react this way. Guilt. Family pressure. In a week, she’ll return, mortified and ready to sign those papers.
But the second email is different. It’s longer, and I find myself slowing down to read every word. Evelyn talks about how much her husband has changed, how he’s ‘really trying, for the first time.’ The language is still erratic, but there’s a new, unsettling conviction to it. She writes,“Maybe I was too quick to judge… I want to give us another chance.”She signs off with her full name as if this makes it more official.
I close my eyes and count to five. I desperately want to ignore it, to let her twist in her anxiety for a few days, and then talk her through the inevitable regrets, but I know that’s not an option. The Hui-Wang case is the highest-profile divorce on my desk, and word will travel fast if a reconciliation happens. I open thethird email, bracing for another long-winded email. Instead, I get the opposite: three short, final lines.
“We spent the month in Taiwan together. We’re finally trying for a baby. I’m not going through with the divorce.”
