56. Dean
Dean
Dean sat alone in Russell and June's dim kitchen, phone still warm in his hand, Fiona’s voice echoing like a ghost in the quiet.
She’d said thank you before she hung up. Soft. Tentative. But real.
It should’ve been enough—to hear her, to know she’d heard him.
He pressed the heel of his hand to his chest, trying to soothe the ache he’d carved there himself.
It wasn’t.
His thoughts raced. What if it wasn’t just him who saw her like this? What if everyone else could too?
Would it make a difference?
Would it help her believe?
His chest still felt cracked open, nerves buzzing like live wires. His whole body itched with the need to do something. Not just feel. Not just sit here in the dark with his guilt and his love and the weight of how much he’d failed her.
Fiona had posted her truth. Vulnerable, brave, unfiltered—and real . And he knew better than anyone what that kind of authenticity could do in the right spotlight.
She was the thing everyone on social media pretended to be: earnest without being na?ve, kind without being weak, principled without being performative.
She was the real deal .
Dean grabbed his laptop, fingers already moving. If she was going to keep sharing pieces of herself—this beautiful, scared, brave version of herself—then maybe he could give something. He could make sure people were watching.
He opened a new doc and started typing.
Dean's fingers moved faster as the plan took shape. He had contacts everywhere—people who owed him favors, networks he'd built over years in the industry. For once, he'd use those connections for something that actually mattered.
Was this even something Fiona would want?
Dean stared at his laptop screen, the cursor blinking at him. He closed the laptop and rubbed his face with both hands.
"Rough night?"
Dean looked up to find Russell standing in the kitchen doorway, gray hair disheveled, wearing an old sweatshirt that had seen better decades.
"Did I wake you?"
"June's thirsty. I came down to get her some water." Russell moved to the sink, filling a glass slowly. "You look like hell."
"Thanks for the pep talk."
Russell leaned against the counter, studying Dean with the same calm attention he'd always brought to client meetings. The man had been a steady presence at the agency for a decade—never the flashiest strategist, never the loudest voice in the room, but always solid. Reliable.
Until he wasn't trendy enough anymore.
"Want to talk about it?" Russell asked.
Dean laughed bitterly. "Not sure there's much to say. I destroyed my marriage, lost the best thing that ever happened to me, and now I'm sitting in your kitchen at midnight obsessing over my estranged wife's internet presence."
Russell raised an eyebrow. "That's... specific."
"She posted something. About moving forward." Dean opened his laptop again, staring at the strategy document he'd started. "And I just—I want people to see her. Really see her. She's incredible, Russell. She's everything good that I'm not."
"And you think social media amplification is going to fix your marriage?"
"No." Dean's voice cracked slightly. "Nothing's going to fix my marriage. She's divorcing me. I don't deserve her. I never did."
Russell sat down across from him, cradling his water glass. "So what's this really about?"
Dean stared at his hands. The words came out in a rush, like a confession he'd been holding back for months.
"She teaches fifth grade," Dean continued. "Do you know what that means? She shapes twenty-three kids every single year. Helps them learn, to think, to believe in themselves. And I acted like it was cute. Like she was playing house while I did the real work."
Russell was quiet for a long moment. "She sounds special."
"She is.” Dean's voice broke on the last word. “And I was too engrossed in my own damn self importance to see it. I took everything pure about her and made it a joke."
Russell leaned back in his chair. "And now?"
"Now I understand that she deserves to have whatever she want. She deserves a platform if she wants one. She deserves everything."
Dean looked up at Russell.
"She can divorce me," Dean said quietly.
"She should divorce me. But I'll always be her husband.
In here." He pressed his hand to his chest. "That doesn't just go away because I fucked it up.
I took vows. I promised to love her, to honor her, to put her first. And I broke every single one of those promises. "
Russell reached across the table and squeezed Dean's shoulder.
"For what it's worth," Russell said quietly, "I think you're finally becoming the man she married."
Dean shook his head. "Too late.”