Chapter 5

I stood there looking at her and laughed until tears came.

“Vera, you were not always like this.”

There had been a time when she sat and watched me paint for hours, losing herself in it and telling me I was the greatest artist in the world. When I forgot to wipe the paint from my hands and felt embarrassed, she was the one who pushed back and said that was exactly how an artist was supposed to look.

And that rainy day I carried with me for so many years, the reason I never forgot it, was because of her. She had been passing by with her umbrella when she stopped, turned to me, and smiled.

“Hey, do you know Sylvia Stone? I am a huge fan of her work. I love her paintings.”

All this time, I believed that day meant something to both of us. It turned out I was the only one who never walked away from it.

Something in my chest finally let go.

I pulled back from her hands and turned to go to my room. The moment I reached for the door, Vera shot her hand out and held it open.

“There is one day left before we remarry, Sean. You will be there, right?”

I stayed quiet for a moment, then smiled.

“Sure.”

…

The next morning, Sophie arrived with a few extra hands to help pack my things. Since I was going abroad, many items needed to be checked and shipped, so everything was packed with extra care.

“Sean, should I take these paintings too?” Sophie asked, nodding toward the portraits lining the walls of my studio.

Every one of them was of Vera.

On our wedding night, she told me she wanted to give me a surprise. Our apartment at the time was barely five hundred fifty square feet, but she had sectioned off more than two hundred of them just for my studio.

In return, she asked me to paint one portrait of her every year. She said she wanted to always have a place in my world.

I agreed. From that point on, I painted her at work, painted her mid-run, painted her hunched over a book. Every portrait received everything I had.

She loved them, and every time I finished one, a gift waited for me.

In our first year of marriage, it was a wool felt piece she spent two weeks learning to make by hand. In our second, it was a set of rare pigments she tracked down across the entire city. In our third, it was tickets to an art exhibition she lined up for three days to get.

By our fifth year, it was a Cartier bracelet her assistant ordered in passing. In our sixth, it was a pair of limited edition sneakers, the same ones Austin had been seen wearing. The night they arrived, he even posted something online to make it clear he thought I was copying him.

In our seventh year, the gift was the divorce agreement. Seven years, and looking back, the distance between us had grown the entire time without me noticing.

Two notifications came through on my phone. One was from Vera that read, “Sean, nine tomorrow morning. Do not forget.”

The other was from Austin. “Last night of our seven-day romance. Vera says she wants to make it a night to remember.”

My eyes stayed on the paintings for one last moment before I switched off the screen.

“Leave them.”

By the time we finished packing, it was already evening. I slept in a room that felt noticeably emptier than before, and I slept well.

At seven the next morning, I got in the car to the airport. Vera called to ask when I was leaving. I gave her a vague answer, then opened her contact and blocked her number.

By eight, I cleared security. Vera posted a photo outside the city hall.

“After everything, it is still you.”

I opened her contact on my phone and deleted it.

By nine, I was on the plane, working through the last of her photos and messages, clearing everything out.

Then my phone rang. It was Sophie.

I picked up. The voice on the other end was Vera’s, equal parts tearful and furious.

“Sean, today is supposed to be our remarriage. Where are you?”