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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
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“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
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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
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“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
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"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
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"Your child will be really cute. Is this your first?" Lionel says casually, his eyes flickering up at me before returning to his plate.I blink at him, stunned. That’s not at all what I expected him to say. My fork hovers mid-air as I stare at him like he's just spoken a different language."Huh?" I widen my eyes, wondering if he’s serious or just teasing.He lifts his head, the corners of his mouth tugging into a soft, almost shy smile. "I said you're beautiful," he repeats, as if explaining something simple. "So, naturally, your child will be cute. What?"I open my mouth, ready to deflect the compliment, to tell him he shouldn’t be saying things like that. That he doesn’t know the first thing about me. That my life is a mess, a broken-down thing no one should willingly walk into. I want to warn him off, to say he shouldn’t waste his kindness on someone like me.But the words don't come out.Instead, my brain whispers that I'm going faster than my shadow again—panicking before anythi
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I wake up the next morning feeling a little better—lighter even. There's a fresh dose of motivation stirring inside me. The plan is simple: take a shower, pack my things, and get the hell out of this guy’s house. But not before we have a conversation about my house renovation plans. I don't intend to leave without that.Dragging myself out of bed, I wander into the bathroom and run a quick bath, letting the warm water soothe the slight ache in my muscles. Afterward, I slip into something less stressful—a simple, cotton jumpsuit that's casual but comfortable. It's one of those outfits that lets you breathe and move without feeling like the seams are at war with your skin. I run a comb through my hair, not bothering with anything too fancy, just enough to look presentable. Then, I repack my bag and head for the door.Halfway down the stairs, the bass thumping from the living room stops me in my tracks. Hip-hop music blares loudly—some old-school jam with heavy beats and a cocky rhythm.
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“You can just take me to a clean hotel. Somewhere close to this place” I tell him, instinctively reaching for my baby bump. He squints his eyes at me as he assesses me “a hotel?” He throws his hand in the air “whatever you say, as long as you won't be staying here.” He helps with my box and we step out of the house without all the ramen I bought—which I plan to come back and get—after he convinces me that I'll be fine without them. We get in his car and the drive starts. I'm tempted to ask him where he's headed but I don't know anywhere in New York. So, I shut my mouth and enjoy the nice R&B playing from his radio station. The drive is a bit cold since it's night and it's also short as he makes a turn into a wide spaced parking lot. “Wait here,” he says immediately the car comes to a stop. I don't say anything, deciding to wait. Seconds later, he returns with chips and burgers in his hand. Thinking about it, my stomach growls as the food comes closer to my nostrils. He hands me b
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He walks to where I’m standing at the entrance of my gate and stops a few inches away, his brows slightly furrowed in concern.“Are you alright? Did you forget something in my car?” Lionel asks, turning back to glance at the black Tesla now bathed in the glow of the streetlights.I shake my head slowly. “I didn’t forget anything in your car. I… I kind of need your help with something,” I say, exhaling hard, eyes momentarily closing from the weight of admitting it.I’m not used to asking people for help—especially not men. Especially not someone I just reconnected with after hours of avoiding conversation on a flight from Chicago to New York.I’m stuttering, and my fingers tremble slightly as they wrap around each other. It’s been a long time since I let someone see me like this—unguarded, unsure.Lionel studies me in silence. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, clearly reading between the lines.“My help?” he repeats softly. A few seconds later, he throws his hands in the air and
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