Chapter 22 #2
It’s strange… we’ve only spoken a handful of times, and yet it feels as though we’ve known each other much longer. It’s been like this since the day I met him in the Hamptons.
“Yes,” I whisper. “It’s been a good day. My children are my whole world.”
I hesitate, then ask, “Do you have children, Alexander?” Before he can answer, I rush to add, “You don’t have to answer that if you’d rather not.”
“I don’t mind answering anything you’d like to know,” he says, without a hint of hesitation. “And no, I don’t have children. I’m not married… or dating, either.”
“Oh.”” The word slips out. I instantly feel foolish. “Well... I won’t take up any more of your time. Thank you again, truly. I loved the gift.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” he replies. “And I meant what I said—you can call me anytime, for any reason.” His tone is warm, steadying me the way it always does. “I’m glad you liked the present, Cecily.”
We say our goodbyes, and when the call ends, I sit there for a moment.
I pick up the pen again, and that’s when I notice it.
I place it beside the card, comparing the two. The handwriting—my name, etched in silver on the pen—it’s the same. Almost identical.
“Oh my God, no,” I groan. “Mark, why would you do that?”
I cover my face with both hands the moment I see the waitress approaching. A medium-sized cake balanced in her hands, two unlit candles forming the number 38 on top.
He knows how much I hate attention, and there’s nothing more mortifying than people singing Happy Birthday to you in the middle of a restaurant.
We’d spent the whole day together, making the most of what we could despite the cold outside. But my heart had been warm all day—warmed by Alicia and Ethan’s laughter, every time Mark said something in that irreverent, typical way of his, or pulled one of his little stunts.
Before we left home, I’d received a few more gifts. One from my editor, another from my digital content creator, and sweet ones from Felicity and Oliver.
My parents sent something too, but I asked Mark to open it and pass it along to someone he knew. Colin texted early in the morning to wish me a happy birthday, I reacted with a simple thumbs-up emoji.
This is the first special date on the calendar, since everything happened, that I haven’t felt the ache of his absence... or wished things had turned out differently.
The waitress sets the cake in front of me, lights the candles, and—to my complete horror—Alicia, Mark, and even the waitress start singing.
When they finish, I blow out the candles. The room fills with applause from nearby tables. I smile quickly, eyes skimming the faces around me without really focusing on anyone and mumble a quick thank you.
As soon as the waitress leaves, placing plates and forks for the cake, I turn to Mark. “You’re going to pay for this,” I say, trying not to smile.
He shrugs, smirking. “Do your worst.”
I shake my head and accept the slice Ethan hands me. The cake melts on my tongue, the filling tastes like blackberry jam. I decide, right then, that this is my new favorite cake.
We’re finishing the last bites when another waiter walks by, and Ethan asks him to take a picture of us. Mark straightens what’s left of the cake, turning the candles the right way, and we all pull our chairs closer. Nearly shoulder to shoulder.
He thanks the waiter when he hands the phone back and shows us the photo. Mark is grinning like the fool he is, his arm draped behind Alicia’s chair as she beams at the camera; her brother’s smile is smaller, his arm resting behind mine.
Ethan starts teasing Alicia, claiming she has her eyes closed in every single photo, and it doesn’t take a second for Mark to join in. I just watch them, smiling because I know I don’t need anything else to be happy.
March
Colin
I pull the shirt over my shoulders and button it with trembling fingers.
When I finish, I tuck it into my pants, zip, and button.
Shoes. Tie. Watch. The cologne Ceci gave me for my birthday last year. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block the memories before they break through.
Not today. Please, not today.
I grab my wallet, my keys, and leave the hotel suite. The elevator ride feels too short. I wish the drive were longer—that the traffic would stretch the minutes, give me time to breathe, to delay the inevitable.
But no. Everything moves too smoothly. As if the universe itself has conspired to make this end come faster.
I park a block away and stay in the car for a while, watching people pass, their lives untouched.
When the clock reaches the hour, I start the engine again and drive the rest of the way. As soon as I park and step out, I draw in a deep breath. It takes everything I have not to turn around, get back in the car, and just drive.
But I keep walking.
Inside the lobby, I find my lawyer waiting, his assistant beside him.
He nods once. “She and her lawyer are already upstairs.”
My throat tightens. The words sound distant, muffled.
I nod and follow them to the elevator. I keep my fists clenched, my eyes fixed on the display with each floor that brings me closer to the end.
The moment I step into the room, I see her.
She’s sitting in the middle—her lawyer on one side, an assistant on the other. Ceci turns her head toward the door and gives me a small nod. That’s all. No smile. No words. Just that.
Everyone stands, hands are shaken, seats are taken. And then it’s her and me… across the table, across what’s left of our life.
My heart is a hammer in my chest. I take her in piece by piece. The white coat with black buttons, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail, small earrings, barely any makeup, freckles still visible.
Beautiful. Still so impossibly beautiful. Just like the first time I saw her.
I can’t do this.
Our lawyers start reviewing the Marital Settlement Agreement. I don’t interrupt. I don’t contest anything. Everything is divided equally. The house we lived in for almost fifteen years goes to me. She doesn’t want it anymore. She thinks it’ll be better for the kids to start fresh somewhere else.
She refused spousal support—that one burned. Because there’s nothing I wouldn’t have given her, if she’d only asked. I know the blog is profitable, and the investments I made for her are still performing well. But I wanted to do this for her.
Money wouldn’t fix anything, but it’s the only thing I have left to give.
We agreed on Sole Physical Custody with Joint Legal Custody. The kids will still live with her. I’ll see Alicia three times a week, and she’ll spend two weekends with me—Friday through Sunday.
Ethan, at seventeen—and under New York law—is still considered a minor, so he’s technically included in the agreement, but only as a formality, for child support purposes. No judge would ever force him at his age, and I won’t be the one to do it either.
Even with the agreement in place, I won’t make either of them do anything they don’t want to.
My only hope is that, somehow, things with Alicia will start to feel normal again. But with Ethan... I know it won’t be easy. I don’t expect him to want to see me anytime soon, much less spend weekends in whatever place I end up calling home.
That thought alone feels like another punishment I’ve earned, because deep down, I know he probably won’t.
There’s no limit on child support. I’ll pay more than any court would require. Cecily may not want anything from me anymore, but I’ll give everything I can to our children.
The company shares remain untouched.
Jonathan and I had both added a business protection clause to our prenuptial agreements—specifically to ring-fence our shares against any future divorce. We didn’t do it because we ever imagined this happening, but because we had to protect the company’s future.
I remember when Jonathan finally proposed to Harper. Ceci and I had been married five years by then. He laughed, glass of whiskey in hand.
“If anyone’s ever going to need that clause, it’s me,” he said. “You and Cecily are the only couple that still make me believe in forever.”
Forever.
My eyes drift back to Ceci. She’s listening to her lawyers, nodding, composed. That effortless grace that once undid me now feels like a wall I’ll never cross again.
I tell my lawyer to agree to everything. No questions. No pushback.
She starts fidgeting with a pen resting on the table. Something written on it catches my attention. I narrow my eyes until I can read the inscription, engraved in elegant silver script: Cecily Sterling.
My stomach drops. My heart starts to race, beating out of rhythm. It’s how everyone will call her now. Not just on her blog, not just in her column…everywhere.
Cecily Sterling.
My palms sweat. I wipe them on my pants, trying to steady myself.
Her lawyer slides the papers toward her. She reads each page quickly, signs without hesitation. Then the documents are placed in front of me. I loosen my tie. My hand won’t move.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper, staring at the line where her signature already bleeds through in black ink. It looks like it could reach out and burn me.
“Sign the papers,” she says through clenched teeth. “That was the agreement.”
I look up at her, pleading. “Ceci, please. It won’t happen again, I swear. I can’t lose you. Please don’t do this to me.”
Tears run down my face. I don’t care who’s watching. I don’t care about the lawyers, or the assistants, or the ruin I’ve become.
“You don’t get to beg,” she says, her voice trembling, anger and grief twisted so tightly it’s hard to tell them apart.
She leans forward, her finger striking the papers between us.
“These were your choices, Colin. Your choices are what brought us here. Your choices are the reason I had to sign all these papers. You did this—not me. Now act like the man I once believed you were... keep your word, sign these papers, and let me live.”
I close my eyes. Tears keep falling.
Defeated, I take the pen my lawyer holds out to me. My vision clears just enough to make out the date printed at the top of the page: March 13th, 2026.
Fitting.
I sign my name on every page, my hand shaking violently. By the time I reach the last line, a sob tears through my chest. The pen slips from my fingers.
And I flee.
I pass the elevator, too disoriented to wait for it.
I push through the door to the stairwell instead. Eighteen flights. I take them all, stumbling, breathless, half-blind, one hand on the railing, the other gripping the wall as if it could hold me together.
By the time I reach the car, my legs are shaking so hard I can barely stand.
I fall into the driver’s seat, the door slamming shut behind me, the world suddenly dead still. My forehead meets the steering wheel, and I just stay there, breathing like I'm trying to remember how.
Somewhere between a jagged breath and a sharp gasp, I start to cry. A sob that tears through bone and leaves nothing behind—no dignity, no defenses, no air left in my lungs.
Because somewhere between those signatures... I lost the only woman I ever loved.