I glance at Lionel, waiting for some kind of explanation.He catches my questioning look and chuckles. “It’s an art exhibition today,” he replies, a small twinkle in his eyes.I can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of my lips. It’s been so long since I attended one of these. I used to love them—the colors, the emotions, the quiet hum of conversation, the way art could make you feel something without words. But I haven’t stepped foot in a gallery since I married Leonard. The thought comes with a dull ache in my chest, one I quickly brush aside.“Come on, let’s go in,” Lionel says as he offers his hand.I hesitate just for a second, then place my hand in his. His palm is warm, his grip secure. There’s something steadying about him—like a gentle tide that doesn’t rush but still finds a way to reach the shore. We walk into the gallery, and my breath catches in my throat.The entire space is bathed in light. The walls are pristine white, acting as the perfect canvas for the bursts
Deciding not to narrate too much in order not to bore him, I just say, “We were married until someone else came into the picture.”“Did you fall in love with someone else?” Lionel asks, intrigued.I shake my head “No. Of course not.” I barter my eyes away. “He cheated with his childhood friend. But it turned out it was more than what I thought it was.”“Oh, I’m so sorry. No woman deserves to be cheated on no matter what,” he says.“Thank you.”“So, you got divorced then?” he asks, drowning more of his liquor.“Uhm…” I lick my lips. “Yeah, I did. That’s why I left Chicago.”I don't know if the lie is worth it, but I sure don’t know how to say that I tried to divorce my billionaire husband but couldn’t — because he's powerful, connected, and makes it feel like the world spins at his will.“I’m so sorry about your divorce,” Lionel says. “At least I’m here. I can help you,” he adds, like I’m a patient and he’s the doctor ready to patch me up. It wants to sound funny but it doesn't. Not in
“Late last night. I didn’t want to wake you,” he answers softly.There’s a moment of quiet between us before he adds, “Thanks for taking care of the place... and the doughnut too. It’s amazing. Where did you buy them?”I smile, feeling warmth rise in my chest. “Thank you. I didn’t buy them. I made them myself.”“Wow. Really?” His eyes meet mine, and for a fleeting second, the air shifts. There’s something in his gaze—warmth, curiosity... something unspoken. It makes you want to stay just a little longer, maybe share a secret or ask the kind of questions that matter.To break the growing tension, I glance back at the painting on the wall. “She must be special. Is it her birthday?”He nods slowly, his voice dropping. “She was everything.”I take a small step closer, concern etched into my voice. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”I place a hand gently on his shoulder. “I’m really sorry,” I say again, softer this time.He nods, eyes lighting up just a bit, though sadness still lingers in
After the checkup, I return to Lionel's apartment, my body slightly tired but my mind relieved. Dr. Maxwell had been reassuring, and I felt safer under his care. As soon as I step into the quiet space, my phone buzzes. It’s my father again. I hesitate but answer anyway."Evelyn, come back home. We can sort everything out together," he pleads over the line. His voice, though soft, carries that usual manipulative urgency."I have to go, Dad," I cut him off gently. "I’ll talk to you later."Before he can protest, I end the call. I feel a tinge of guilt, but I quickly push it away. Being here, away from all that life, has given me a kind of freedom I didn't know I needed.Left alone again, I step into the backyard garden. Lionel had a surprisingly beautiful patch of herbs and flowers. I pick a few herbs, not even sure what most of them are, but I sniff and select the ones that smell right. Back in the kitchen, I combine them with flour and make something like fresh donuts—herbed, soft, an
“What is that you're eating?” she blurts out, eyes narrowing through the FaceTime screen.I glance from my phone to the small saucer of snacks in front of me. “It’s, um… I don’t know what it’s called. It’s made with dough, I think, and maybe peanuts and—”“Did you say peanuts?” she cuts in sharply, her face creasing with a mix of concern and confusion.“Yes, doctor. I said peanuts. Can you believe—”“Evelyn, you didn’t read your last check-up results, did you?”I pause, my confidence faltering. “Uhm… but I’m fine, right? I trust you.”She sighs, rubbing her eyes. “Is anyone close to you? Are you alone?”I raise an eyebrow, my hand unconsciously dropping to my belly. “Yes, I’m alone. Why?”“You shouldn’t eat peanuts, Eve. Your growing child has an allergy. If you’re not careful, you’re going to get sick—soon,” she says. Her voice is calm but urgent.I sit there, dumbfounded. How did I miss that? Why didn’t she tell me?“I’m so sorry I didn’t mention it earlier,” she says quickly, readi
"I’m just saying, there’s nothing wrong with how you’re feeling, but you shouldn’t run away from someone trying to help you. Don’t—""Okay, okay. I’ll think about it," I cut Maya off, not in the mood to be lectured."Good," she says, her tone softening. "How’s my baby doing? When’s your next check-up?""Next week," I answer, twirling the edge of my shirt between my fingers. "But now that you mention it, I probably need to talk to my doctor.""Alright, take care of yourself, hun. I gotta run—it's Monday, and some of us actually work for a living," she teases."Ha ha, very funny," I reply dryly before ending the call.Slipping the phone into my pocket, I walk back into the living room and find Lionel wiping down the glass center table with a towel. The scent of fresh soap and the faint undertone of his cologne fill the air."That was a long call," he says, glancing at me with a small smile."Yeah, my friend just wanted to check in," I reply. "No work today?""Well," he says, tossing the