All Chapters of Falling For His Forsaken Wife: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Miguel's wedding day arrived with perfect November weather—crisp and clear, the autumn leaves in Central Park at peak color. Alex and I arrived at Bow Bridge at three-thirty, an hour before the ceremony.Diana's parents were already there, directing setup. The string quartet was arranging chairs. Thirty white folding chairs faced the bridge, simple flower arrangements marking the aisle."This is beautiful," I said to Diana, who appeared in jeans and a sweatshirt, her wedding dress still hidden away."Simple but meaningful. That is what we wanted." She looked nervous. "Are you ready for your reading?""Ready. Mary Oliver always delivers.""Thank you for doing this. It means a lot to Miguel. To both of us."She disappeared to change, leaving me and Alex standing on the bridge watching the setup. The city skyline was visible in the distance, buildings catching the late afternoon sun."This time last year, Miguel was engaged to Claire," Alex said. "Now he is marrying Diana. Everything cha

Saturday morning, I woke before dawn. The retrospective opening was at six. Twelve hours away. Twelve hours until my entire career was judged publicly."Stop catastrophizing," Alex said without opening his eyes. "I can hear you thinking from here.""I am not catastrophizing. I am preparing for realistic outcomes.""You are imagining disaster. That is the definition of catastrophizing." He pulled me close. "The work is strong. The installation is perfect. Dr. Whitman believes in this exhibition. You need to trust that.""What if people hate the Chicago series? What if they think the lack of resolution is a failure instead of a choice?""Then some people will hate it and other people will appreciate the honesty. That is how art works. Not everyone will understand what you are doing. However, the people who matter will."I tried to go back to sleep but my brain would not quiet. At seven, I gave up and went for a run along Lake Michigan. The cold March air cleared my head. The rhythm of f

July first arrived with oppressive heat and the strange luxury of no obligations. The retrospective had closed the week before. Paintings were being returned to collectors and storage. My calendar was completely empty for the first time in three years."What do we do now?" I asked Alex over breakfast."Whatever we want. That is the point of taking time off.""That feels impossible. There must be something I should be doing.""There is nothing you should be doing except recovering. That is the whole point."We spent the first week at the beach house. Swimming in the still-cold ocean. Reading on the porch. Cooking elaborate meals that took hours. Existing without agenda or timeline.By the second week, I started to relax. The constant anxiety about deadlines faded. The pressure to be productive loosened. I remembered what it felt like to just—be."You look different," Alex said one evening as we sat on the beach watching sunset."Different how?""Lighter. Less like you are carrying the

September arrived with the residency program launching. The three artists—Maya from Kentucky, Jordan from the Bronx, and Carmen from Houston—moved into their studio spaces in Brooklyn. I met them on their first day, feeling nervous in a way I had not anticipated."Thank you for this opportunity," Maya said, looking around her studio with wonder. "I have never had dedicated space like this. Never had time to just create without worrying about rent.""I know exactly what that feels like," I told them. "Four years ago, I was painting in a motel room with supplies I could barely afford. This program exists because I remember what it is like to need support that does not exist."We spent the afternoon discussing their projects, their goals, what they hoped to achieve during the residency. They were talented and hungry and reminded me of myself at the beginning."You are giving them what you needed," Alex said that evening. "That is beautiful.""That is what success should be used for. Crea

January arrived with the legacy series beginning to take shape. The first painting started slowly—large canvas, complex composition, multiple layers suggesting accumulation over time."What are you exploring exactly?" Alex asked, watching me work."What persists after we are gone. Whether individual work matters or if only collective impact endures. The relationship between creating for yourself and creating for future generations.""Heavy questions for a new year.""Heavy questions that feel necessary. I am thirty-two. I have built a career. Created infrastructure. The question now is what lasting impact looks like."The painting was different from anything I had created before. More abstract, more layered, more concerned with texture and depth than clear imagery. It required slow building. Patience."This is taking longer than usual," Lucia observed in late January."Because the questions are more complex. I am not rushing to meet anyone's timeline but my own.""That is sustainable