4

NADIA

“I thought you said you didn’t exchange any personal information with your one-night stand?” Laura’s voice bursts through the speaker, loud enough to make me wince. A beat later, a giggle follows.

I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me. “I don’t think the flowers are from him, Laura. I don’t even know the guy.”

“What about him? Does he know you?”

I hesitate, turning her question over. Know me? Hardly. “I doubt it. We bumped into each other in the parking lot about three weeks ago and then again at the party. Total coincidence.”

“Methinks it wasn’t,” she says, dragging out the word in that annoying, singsong tone she knows I hate.

I frown, pacing toward the counter where the flowers sit, fresh lilies and white roses tied with a silk ribbon. “So what are you saying? That I have a stalker?”

There’s a long silence. For a second, I think she’s hung up, but then I catch the faint rustle of movement, footsteps, maybe.

“Laura we can talk later if you’re busy,” I offer, half-expecting to use that as an escape. “I have to go anyway.”

“Sis, no,” Laura says quickly, lowering her voice. “I was just leaving the room. My man’s housekeeper is around.”

“Oh.” I glance at the bouquet again. “That’s fine. I’ll call you later.”

“No,” she protests. “You’ve been saying that for a week now. You have to tell me about your one-night stand. How good was it?”

God. Not this again. Not now.

My gaze drifts to the card tucked neatly between the stems. I pull it free and flip it open. There’s no address, no signature, just a single line written in clean, deliberate handwriting.

For you.

I stare at it, my mind spinning for explanations before it lands on the most logical one. Felix.

Of course. This has his fingerprints all over it, his way of saying I’m sorry without ever using the words. His idea of an apology wrapped in luxury.

I let out a slow breath, torn between irritation and something that feels dangerously close to hope.

“I’ll tell you over lunch this weekend,” I say, glancing at the clock. “I have to go now. Felix is coming home today, and I want to make something nice for him.”

She lets out a sharp scoff. “Give it a rest, Nadia. That man is gone. You can’t keep flogging a dead horse or whatever.”

The words sting because they’re true. Felix is gone, at least, the version of him who used to look at me like I was everything. Still, I can’t shut off what I feel.

A part of me still believes this is just a phase. That marriages go through rough stretches, that love bends but doesn’t always break. Maybe this is one of those times. Maybe if I try a little harder, cook his favourite meal, and look like the woman he fell in love with, things might shift back.

Without another word, I hang up and drop the phone on the bed. The silence that follows is thick.

I make my way to the kitchen, tying my hair into a messy bun as I open the fridge. A faint chill greets me, along with the hum of the compressor.

The shelves are a mix of order and neglect, half-empty jars, an old carton of milk, and a few vegetables that have seen better days.

I pull out what I can use. Lasagna sheets. Cheese. Tomato paste. Ground beef from the freezer. Felix loves lasagna. He always has.

He used to say mine was his favourite, even when I burned the edges or added too much sauce. He’d tease me about it, then eat every bite. That memory makes my chest tighten as I line the counter with ingredients.

I fill a pot with water and set it to boil, then start chopping onions. The familiar rhythm of cooking gives my hands something to do, something that keeps my thoughts from wandering too far.

Still, they drift to the flowers in the living room, to the small white card tucked inside.

The sauce begins to simmer, filling the kitchen with the scent of tomatoes and garlic. I stir slowly, tasting as I go, adjusting the seasoning until it feels right.

When the lasagna is finally in the oven, the sky outside is already fading to dusk. I wipe my hands on a towel and lean against the counter, staring at the faint reflection of myself in the glass. Tired eyes. A forced calm.

Maybe tonight will be different. Maybe Felix will walk through the door, see the effort, and remember what it felt like to love me.

Or maybe I’m just fooling myself again.

By the time the clock hits eight, the lasagna is ready, the candles are lit, and the soft hum of jazz spills from the speakers in the ceiling.

I slide into the wine-coloured dress Felix used to admire. Silk clings, cool and smooth. My makeup whispers elegance, and my hair brushes my shoulder like a soft promise.

When the door finally opens, my heart gives a small, stupid leap.

Felix steps in, tall and crisp in a dark shirt and slacks, his tie loose around his neck. He looks tired but good. Too good.

“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual, like I haven’t been pacing for the last twenty minutes.

He smiles when his eyes land on me. It’s warm enough to sting a little, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Hey, Nads.” He pulls me into a hug brief, perfunctorynand then steps back. “You look nice.”

“You must be tired,” I say, smiling up at him. “Go take a shower first, okay? I made your favourite.”

“Yeah, about that.” He sets his keys on the console and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m just going to take a quick shower. We’re heading out for dinner.”

I blink. “Out? You just got home. Shouldn’t you rest? Maybe stay in? Spend some time with your wife?”

He laughs, but it’s a dry sound with no trace of humour. “Calm your horses, Nads. It’s just dinner with Jordan.”

“Jordan.” I nod, keeping my tone neutral even as my stomach tightens. “You finally got him to agree to meet me.”

“Yeah,” he says, almost distracted, already glancing toward the stairs. “Took a while, but it’s happening.”

I glance toward the oven, where the lasagna still sits warm. “There’s food here. Lasagna. If Jordan doesn’t like it, I can make something else.”

Felix sighs and gives a small shrug. “I’ll call him. See what he says.”

And just like that, he’s heading up the stairs, his footsteps fading as the silence swells.

I stay rooted to the spot for a moment, hands resting on the edge of the counter, staring at the untouched meal. The candles flicker. The music feels too soft now, too intimate for the emptiness settling in my chest.

Then, I sink onto one of the kitchen stools and exhale slowly. My reflection in the dark window looks distant, like someone else’s life playing out in front of me.

I shouldn’t think about him. the stranger from that nightnbut I do. The way he’d looked at me like I was the only woman in the world. The way his touch had erased every crack Felix had left behind. The way he’d made me feel beautiful. Seen. Wanted.

I press my lips together and blink back the sting in my eyes.

Upstairs, the shower starts running. I hear Felix humming faintly. Calm, easy, and detached like nothing between us is broken.

Maybe Laura was right. Maybe he is gone.

Twenty-five minutes later, I go upstairs to find Felix propped against the headboard, scrolling through his phone, the faint glow from the screen lighting up his face. He chuckles at something, thumb flicking lazily.

For a while, I just stand there watching him, how relaxed he looks, how far away. It’s like he’s in a world I don’t belong to anymore.

“Plans changed?” I ask finally.

He looks up briefly. “Yeah. Jordan says he can’t make it. He just relocated back to New Jersey and says he’s still settling in.”

“Oh.” I nod. “That’s understandable.”

I pause, then smile faintly. “I hope I get to meet him soon. I’ve heard so much about him, I need to put a face to all the stories.”

Felix chuckles. “You’ll like him. He’s quite the charmer.”

“I bet.”

Felix sets his phone aside and switches off the lamp. “Goodnight, Nadia. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

The darkness fills the room, wrapping around the silence that always seems to follow us lately. I stand there for a moment, watching his outline fade into the dark, knowing that no matter what I do, Felix will never really see me.

I leave the room quietly, letting the door click shut behind me.

Downstairs, I grab my car keys without thinking and step into the night. The air is cool, but it doesn’t touch the restlessness coiling inside me. I slide into the car, start the engine, and pull onto the street.

I have no destination. Laura’s is off-limits. Her endless questions about the stranger who set my body on fire are the last thing I can handle.

The one person and topic I’m desperate to avoid.

I reach for my phone to call Mom, then stop. Laura said she’d be out of town for a conference. Great. No fallback.

I flip on the radio. A country station crackles to life, something old, mournful, familiar. I grip the wheel and stomp on the gas, letting the streets blur beneath me. Wind whips through the open window, tangling my hair, tugging at my clothes, and making my skin tingle. My chest hammers, my thoughts scatter, but I drive. Drive until the noise in my head drowns out everything else.

I need a distraction. Finding out who Jordan is feels like the perfect one. I grabbed my phone and the card I took from Felix’s study, typing Jordan's name into the search bar. I pull over to the side of the road, my pulse quickening, excitement buzzing under my skin.

No picture. Just a long, detailed profile and a single photo of an old building.

“Westend… fifty miles from here.” I whisper, a grin tugging at my lips.

I merge back onto the road, the city shrinking behind me, the highway stretching out like a ribbon ahead. Fifty miles, maybe an hour, but it doesn’t feel long at all. My fingers drum against the steering wheel, anticipation coiling in my chest. Whoever Jordan is, I’m about to find out.

Then, just past the next exit, a black SUV appears on the shoulder. Engine running. Windows dark and in the passenger seat… someone is staring directly at me.

My heart skips. I slow down, trying to make sense of it, and then the figure lifts a hand. A single, deliberate wave.

And my phone buzzes with a notification I didn’t expect. It's the same building from the photo, tagged with my location… right now.

I slam on the brakes.