Chapter 33
April 30, 2024
I wake up to a soft thud. My eyes fly open. I’m in my bed in my London flat. It’s still dark out.
When I roll over, Milo’s side of the bed is empty. He’s here, though. The sheets are warm, and I spot his trousers and sweatshirt draped over the armchair in the corner.
I blink quickly until my vision adjusts to the darkness. I hear that soft thud again; then Milo whispers a curse.
I crawl out of bed and pad down the hallway. When I hit the kitchen, I flip on the lights. There’s Milo standing between the dining table and the couch, wearing rumpled sweatpants and an undershirt. He’s staring wide-eyed at me, holding an empty cardboard box.
I start to laugh at his expression. He looks like a little kid who’s been busted for rummaging through the cookie jar before dinner.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
A sheepish smile is his answer. He tugs a hand through his messy black-brown hair. “I wanted to surprise you.”
He nods his chin at the dining room table, where an empty vase sits next to a pile of baby-pink peonies.
“Early-morning flower run,” he says. “I thought maybe having a fresh bouquet of your favorite flowers would soften the blow of this afternoon. I know divorce proceedings with Tristan this week haven’t been easy.”
He rubs the back of his neck before walking up to me. He starts to reach for me but seems to think better of it. I close the space between us, slide my arms around him, and hug him.
I close my eyes as I hold Milo tight against me. “This was so thoughtful of you. I love it.”
I feel his body loosen against mine. He rests his chin on top of my head. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all this shit with him.”
I can feel my body tense at the thought of going to battle with Tristan.
But then Milo’s arms squeeze around me. The tension is still there, but there’s comfort and warmth now too.
“I wish I could be in the room with you,” he says.
“I wish that too.” I sigh. “Probably best that you’re not, though.” I think of all the times that Milo and Tristan’s conflicts have turned physical.
“You’re right.” He huffs out a breath. “It’s way better to have Lara there with you. They don’t call her Lara Barracuda for nothing.”
He lets go of me and steps over to the kitchen and fills the teakettle.
“Lara Barracuda,” I repeat.
Milo chuckles. “Hell of a nickname to earn in law school, isn’t it?”
Lara Chan— Lara Barracuda —my divorce attorney.
Milo fetches two mugs from the cupboard and sets them down on the counter. He drops his special combination of tea bags in each one: one hazelnut black tea and one Earl Grey.
“I hope that this is the last day,” he says as he pours hot water into each mug.
It is the last day, since I’ve lived the following days and haven’t had a single meeting with a lawyer.
So this is it. Today is the legal end of my marriage.
Milo hands me my mug. As I wait for it to cool down enough for me to take a sip, I tense once more. This day is going to be hell.