The Lonely Lights of Winter

Right after I put the contract away, the phone rang. It was the funeral home.

Vivian Cross had been staring down at her phone, but caught a few words and looked up. "Who died?"

"A distant relative," I replied, hanging up before she could ask anything else.

She just hummed in response and went back to her phone, then walked straight out the door. She forgot to wait for me again, like always. I didn't think much of it and followed her out.

I'd barely gotten my hand on the car door when she grabbed my wrist.

Vivian pointed at the car parked behind hers. "Ethan, drive yourself to set. I need to bring Miles his breakfast."

I froze for a second, then pulled my hand back.

"Okay," I said quietly.

She seemed surprised I didn't fight her on it the way I used to. For once, she gave me something close to a warm smile.

"Remember to eat something. You're getting too thin," she said.

I glanced at the back seat of her car. There had to be a dozen different breakfast dishes back there, still steaming. She must have gone out early in the morning to buy them all herself.

I looked away, remembering the time I'd begged her to bring me a cup of hot ginger tea when my stomach was acting up. She'd barely glanced at me and handed me a carton of milk instead.

"I don't have time. Just drink this," she said nonchalantly as she rushed out the door.

She'd forgotten I was allergic to milk. The milk in our fridge was always for her, and since she barely came home anymore, it usually went bad before anyone touched it.

By the time I came back to myself, Vivian had already sped off in her car.

When I got to set, everyone looked at me like I didn't belong there. I ignored them and waited quietly to the side. By the time the other couples finished their pre-interviews, Vivian still hadn't shown up.

The director, Samuel Brown, asked me to call her, and that was when I found out she'd blocked my number. That was the result of the previous bet she lost to Miles Smith. The forfeit was deleting every way I had to reach her.

I put my phone away and gave the director an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I don't actually have her number."

People started whispering around us.

"Bet he signed up on his own to get his career back. Ms. Cross clearly doesn't even want to be here with him."

"He shot all those adult films behind her back and slept with who knows how many women, yet she still hasn't divorced him. That's generous enough. How does he even have the nerve to show up on a divorce show..."

As one of Vivian's close friends, Samuel knew the real story. He paused for a while when he heard the whispers, but didn't correct anyone.

I waited until the sun went down. Every other guest had already gone back to the hotel to rest, but I was still sitting alone in the studio. Cold air leaked in through the windows, making me cough non-stop. I was wiping blood off my palm when I heard someone come through the door.

Seeing me coughing, Vivian pressed a hand warmer into my palms. "Sorry I'm late. Something came up at the office."

I caught the heavy scent of agarwood on her coat. Miles loved it, so Vivian had built him an agarwood grove spanning twenty five acres. I noticed the red rash creeping up her neck and looked away before she could catch me staring.

Vivian was allergic to that scent. The worst time, she'd gone into anaphylactic shock right in front of me. I'd begged her more than once, as sincerely as possible, to stop putting her body through that just for him.

All I ever got back was a cold look and her snapping, "Mind your own business."

Crushing the bloody tissue in my fist, I set the hand warmer aside. I hated that smell, and she knew exactly why. My father died under the agarwood tree where he and my mother first fell in love, on the day he caught her cheating on him.

Back when Vivian and I were young and in love, she used to remind her assistant, Chris Taylor, never to buy me anything made from agarwood. She'd once sworn to me that she'd never do anything to hurt me like that.

People change. The girl who used to love me had found a boy she loved more.

The crew called us in for our closing interviews. Vivian was still on her phone, smiling at whatever Miles had texted her. Everyone pretended not to notice. I was the only one performing a one-man show, answering Samuel's sharp questions all on my own.

It wasn't hard. I was an actor. I told myself this was the last role I'd ever play.

For the final segment, Samuel handed us each a slip of paper and asked, "Do you still want a divorce?"