Chapter 4 #2
It’s such a perfectly Luca thing to say, practical and slightly ridiculous all at once, that I feel the corner of my mouth lift in what might, with enough effort, become a smile.
“Thank you,” I say, the words inadequate for what I’m trying to express.
Luca nods once, sharply, like he’s accepting a challenge. “That’s what I’m here for,” he says, and turns back to the espresso machine. “Now drink your coffee before it gets cold. I didn’t make it with love and care just for you to ignore it.”
I take a sip, the coffee just right, strong enough to stand up on its own but not so bitter it makes me wince, and for the first time since Sunday, I feel like I might actually survive this.
Adrian arrives nineteen minutes later, which is what I’d expect from someone who schedules his dental cleanings six months in advance and alphabetizes the spices in his kitchen.
He’s carrying his own coffee in a travel mug I recognize as Luca’s, the blue one with “I’M NOT ALWAYS RIGHT BUT I’M NEVER WRONG” printed in small letters around the base, and his phone in his other hand.
He’s wearing a button-down with the sleeves rolled precisely to the elbow and a pair of dark jeans that look both casual and deliberate, like he put the right amount of thought into not looking like he was trying.
Nothing about him announces that he’s walking into a difficult room, which is somehow what makes it clear he knows what kind of room this is.
“Elsie,” he says, his voice steady. “I’m sorry we’re catching up under these circumstances.”
He is so sincere, acknowledging the situation without making it a spectacle, treating me like a person having a difficult morning rather than a case file with legs. I feel something in my chest loosen slightly.
“Thank you for coming,” I say, the words feeling both too formal and not formal enough for the moment.
Adrian nods once, then glances at Luca, who’s standing behind the counter with his arms crossed and his jaw set in a way that suggests he’s currently imagining several creative uses for Daniel’s internal organs.
There’s a brief, silent exchange between them, Adrian’s eyebrows lifting slightly, Luca’s mouth tightening before he gives a small nod, and then Adrian turns back to me.
“Let’s sit,” he says, gesturing to the corner table by the window. “You can tell me what you’re comfortable sharing, and I’ll answer whatever questions I can.”
We settle at the table, Adrian with his back to the wall, me in the chair facing the window, Luca perched on the counter a few feet away with the posture of someone who’s trying very hard not to hover but absolutely will if needed.
The morning light streams through the windows, catching the dust motes in the air and turning them into tiny, suspended stars.
I give Adrian the condensed version. It’s easier the second time, the words coming with slightly less resistance, though my throat still tightens when I mention the hospital.
Adrian listens without interrupting, his expression neutral in a way that’s clearly practiced, the face of someone who’s learned to hear difficult things without showing how difficult he finds them.
When I finish, he nods once, then asks, “When did you find the apps?”
“Sunday afternoon,” I say.
“And you have screen recordings of the messages?”
“Yes. They’re in a locked folder on my phone.”
“Is that folder backed up anywhere? Cloud storage, email, anything like that?”
I shake my head. “Just the phone. I was... it happened fast. I didn’t think about backing anything up.”
“That’s fine,” Adrian says, making a note on his phone. “We can deal with that. Do you have access to any shared accounts? Bank, credit cards, mortgage, that kind of thing?”
“Yes,” I say. “We have a joint account for household expenses, and I’m on the mortgage.”
“Good,” Adrian says. “That’s good.” He takes a sip of his coffee, then sets the mug down with careful precision.
“I’m going to give you some general advice,” he says, his voice measured.
“This isn’t legal counsel, I’m not your lawyer, and you should absolutely get your own representation, but there are some things that are generally true in these situations. ”
I nod, wrapping both hands around my coffee mug.
“First,” Adrian says, “don’t confront him.
Not yet. I know that’s difficult, but right now, information is your most valuable asset.
The moment he knows you’re aware of the situation, he’ll start making moves, closing accounts, transferring money, potentially even trying to establish a different narrative about your relationship.
The less he knows about what you know, the better your position. ”
It makes perfect sense, which doesn’t make it any easier to hear. The idea of continuing to share a bed with Daniel while knowing what he’s been doing, makes my stomach turn.
“Second,” Adrian continues, “don’t leave the family home. I know it’s tempting, God knows I would want to, but leaving voluntarily can complicate custody arrangements later. You have just as much right to be there as he does.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, the words coming out sharper than I intended. “He doesn’t get to push me out of my own house.”
Adrian nods, his expression approving. “Good. That’s the right mindset to have.
” He makes another note on his phone. “Third, document everything. Dates, times, patterns, financial transactions, anything that establishes a consistent record of what’s been happening.
The screen recordings are excellent. If you notice anything else, changes in his behaviour, unexplained absences, money moving between accounts, make a note of it.
Dates and details matter. And if you decide you want to stay.
That is still good information to have, just in case. ”
It’s so practical, so straightforward, that I feel something in my chest loosen slightly. This is a problem with steps. With a path forward. Not just a void I’m falling into. I know I can’t stay. I wouldn’t be able to look at him with love and trust again.
“How do I find a lawyer?” I ask. “A real one, I mean. Not just... not just you helping as a friend.”
“I’ll send you some names,” Adrian says. “People I trust. You should meet with a few, see who you’re comfortable with. This is going to be a process, and you need someone you can talk to honestly.”
I nod, making a mental note to check our savings account as soon as I get home. “What about the twins? They’re only five months old. What happens with custody?”
Adrian’s expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes softens slightly.
“That’s going to depend on a lot of factors,” he says carefully.
“But generally speaking, courts are reluctant to separate very young children from their primary caregiver, especially when that caregiver has been providing the majority of their care. The fact that you’ve been home with them since they were born, that you’re their primary source of stability, that will be a major factor. ”
It’s not a guarantee, but it’s something. A small, specific piece of solid ground in what feels like quicksand.
“Elsie,” Adrian says, his voice careful. “You have more power in this situation than you currently feel like you do. That’s normal, it’s part of the shock, but it’s important that you know it. You’re not starting from nowhere. You’re starting from a position of strength.”
The sentence lands like a physical thing, settling into the space behind my ribs. I have power. Not much, maybe, and not the kind that fixes everything, but enough to stand on. Enough to start with.
“Thank you,” I say, the words inadequate for what I’m trying to express.
Adrian nods once, his expression matter of fact. “You’re welcome,” he says, and then, with perfect timing, the bell above the door chimes as the first customer of the day arrives, Mrs. Chen, with her crossword puzzle, right on schedule.
The café comes alive around us in the way it always does, the lights brightening, the music turning on, the espresso machine changing from its warm-up cycle to the real work of the day.
Luca moves behind the counter with efficiency, calling out a greeting to Mrs. Chen while simultaneously dumping fresh beans into the grinder and reaching for a clean mug.
Adrian checks his watch then stands with the movements of someone who’s aware he’s taking up space that’s about to be in demand.
“I should get to the office,” he says. “But I’ll text you those names today. And Elsie?” He waits until I look up. “However, you’re feeling right now, however this goes, you’re not doing it alone. That’s a promise.”
I nod, not quite trusting my voice, and Adrian gives my shoulder a brief squeeze before heading for the door.
As he passes Luca, there’s another of those silent exchanges, Adrian’s mouth quirking up at one corner, Luca’s eyes narrowing slightly, Adrian kisses him lightly and then he is gone, the bell chiming softly behind him.
For a moment, I just sit at the table, watching the morning light move across the floor. My coffee is cold again, my eyes feel like they’ve been sandpapered, and there’s a hollow space in my chest where my marriage used to be. But Adrian’s words are still there, too.
“Els!” Luca calls from behind the counter. “I need you to make yourself useful or go be sad somewhere that’s not my sightline. This oat milk isn’t going to foam itself, and Mrs. Chen is giving me the look that means she’s three clues away from a completed puzzle and dangerously low on caffeine.”
I stand, carrying my cold coffee to the counter, and slip behind it. “The oat milk never foams,” I tell him, dumping the remains of my drink and reaching for a fresh mug. “It’s physically incapable of forming stable bubbles. We’ve had this conversation multiple times.”
“Yet somehow,” Luca says, handing me a cup of freshly ground espresso, “I remain hopeful that one day, the laws of physics will recognize my emotional needs and make an exception.”
I laugh despite myself, the sound feels strange in my throat and I move to start Mrs. Chen’s latte.
The routine is familiar, comforting in its specificity: tamp the espresso, lock the portafilter, start the shot, steam the milk to 145 degrees.
My hands know what to do even when my brain feels like it’s short-circuiting, and there’s something almost peaceful about watching the milk form a perfect rosetta on the surface of the drink.
As I’m finishing, adding the final flourish with a practiced flick of my wrist, Luca catches my eye from across the counter and makes an absolutely ridiculous face: his eyebrows drawn together, mouth twisted into what might be a snarl or might be an attempt to suck his entire upper lip into his nose, eyes crossed slightly.
It’s so unexpected, so perfectly timed to the moment when Daniel’s name surfaces in my thoughts, that I nearly drop the latte.
“What?” I demand, handing the finished drink to Mrs. Chen with a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “What was that?”
“That,” Luca says, wiping down the steam wand with more aggression than strictly necessary, “was my impression of Daniel’s face when he realizes you’ve retained counsel and he’s about to get metaphorically castrated in divorce court.
” He pauses, considering. “Or possibly literally castrated. I’m keeping my options open. ”
He is just what I needed, this is what I needed, this specific, ridiculous moment of normal in a morning that’s been anything but, that I feel the corner of my mouth twitch upward, the shape of a smile still rough around the edges.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how divorce works,” I say, reaching for the next order.
“Details,” Luca says with a dismissive wave. “I’m working from the heart here, Els. Don’t crush my dreams.”
The morning continues around us, customers arriving, orders being taken, drinks being made.
Luca keeps making increasingly dramatic faces every time Daniel’s name appears in my thoughts, which is often enough that by 10:30, Mrs. Chen has asked twice if he’s having some kind of seizure, and it helps more than I want to admit.
Not because it fixes anything, but because it reminds me that whatever happens next, I won’t be facing it alone.