Chapter 5
Vivian
Somehow, the world kept moving. I went through the motions of work and home, breathing in and out, one heartbeat at a time. I refused to break down in front of Ryan or Lisa, so I found new places to fall apart: the shower, the car, the fluorescent-lit bathroom at the courthouse.
On a Thursday morning, the lawyer called. “You’ll need to come in and sign the separation agreement. Bring your ID.”
I didn’t cry. I dressed in the black suit I’d worn to my father’s funeral, put on lipstick, and walked out the door like nothing could touch me.
The courthouse was an icebox, full of echoes and strangers’ misery. I sat on a hard wooden bench, clutching my purse until my knuckles went white.
That’s where he found me. Alejandro Bellandi, in a crisp gray suit, hair slicked back like he’d stepped out of an Italian crime drama. His eyes were soft, not predatory. When he saw me, he slowed.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low.
I nodded, but my chest was tightening, breath coming in short, panicked bursts.
He sat next to me, not too close. “I can get someone if you need—”
I shook my head, afraid if I spoke, I’d sob.
He waited, patient as a priest.
Eventually, I managed: “I’m fine. Just paperwork. Nothing dramatic.”
He gave a faint smile. “Paperwork is always dramatic. It’s the end of something, or the beginning.”
I almost laughed. “Both, I guess.”
We sat in silence, the noise of the hallway washing over us. When the paralegal came to fetch me, I stood and swayed, a little dizzy.
Alejandro caught my elbow, steadying me. “You want company? For the waiting part?”
I nodded before I could think better of it.
After I’d signed everything, Alejandro was waiting outside.
“Coffee?” he offered.
We went to a café two blocks away, a place with cracked tile floors and chipped mugs. He ordered for both of us—black for him, latte for me—and sat across the table, elbows on the Formica.
He didn’t say a word, just let me sit there, staring at the swirl in my cup.
Finally, I blurted, “My husband cheated on me. With my sister. And now they’re having a baby.”
I waited for shock, or a question, or a polite attempt at comfort.
Instead, Alejandro nodded, like he’d heard it a thousand times before. “That’s brutal,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
I looked at him, waiting for the rest.
He just shrugged. “It says nothing about you, you know. Only about them.”
I sipped my coffee, not trusting myself to speak.
He said, “You seem strong. People like that survive anything.”
I almost smiled. “I don’t feel strong.”
He leaned in, lowering his voice. “They want you to feel small. Don’t let them.”
We drank our coffee in companionable silence. After a while, I forgot I was supposed to be sad. I felt almost…normal.
He paid the bill, walked me to my car, and shook my hand like we’d just struck a deal.
“If you ever need anything,” he said, “you know where to find me.”
For the first time in weeks, I believed him.
I drove home feeling lighter, like I’d shed a layer of dead skin.
Inside, Lisa was painting the nursery a hideous shade of mint.
“Like it?” she called, beaming.
I didn’t trust myself to answer.
Ryan came in an hour later, paper grocery bag in his arms.
He looked at me, and for a moment, something like regret flickered across his face. Then he kissed Lisa’s cheek and unpacked the groceries.
I watched him, wondering how two people could become such perfect strangers.
Lisa called to me, “Come see the new baby furniture! It just arrived.”
I went upstairs, watched her fuss with the crib and the wallpaper samples. She moved with the single-minded focus of someone building a shrine to herself.
That night, I lay awake, listening to the two of them laugh in the kitchen. Every now and then, I heard Ryan’s voice—low, intimate, just for her.
I pressed my palms to my eyes and tried to imagine a world where none of this had happened.
The next week, Alejandro called.
He didn’t ask about the divorce. Instead, he said, “How would you like to have dinner with me?”
I hesitated. “Isn’t that…complicated?”
He laughed, a genuine, rolling sound. “Life is always complicated.”
We met at a tiny restaurant in the arts district. The waiter greeted Alejandro by name and brought us a bottle of red without asking.
We talked about everything but our own disasters—music, movies, the best street food in the city. For a few hours, I remembered what it was like to be interesting to someone.
At the end of the night, he walked me to my car.
“Thanks,” I said. “For making me feel like a person again.”
He smiled, not moving away. “You are a person, Vivian. A remarkable one.”
I waited for him to kiss me, but he just squeezed my hand and let me go.
The next morning, Lisa cornered me in the kitchen.
“You’re seeing someone,” she said, her voice a mix of accusation and awe.
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
She blinked, thrown off by my nonchalance.
“Just be careful,” she said, voice suddenly sharp. “There are a lot of creeps out there.”
I almost laughed. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.”
Meanwhile, Ryan started working even longer hours. Sometimes he didn’t come home at all. Lisa covered for him, always, but I saw through it. She was scared. The glow of pregnancy was replaced by something brittle and tense.
At night, I heard them argue in whispers. I caught Ryan on the phone once, pacing the garage, voice clipped and angry.
“Just get it done,” he barked. “I need the money now.”
When he noticed me, he snapped the phone shut and mumbled something about work. I didn’t buy it.
A few days later, Alejandro called again. This time, he sounded serious.
“I need to ask you something,” he said. “Has Ryan ever mentioned anything about gambling, or debt?”
I froze. “No. Why?”
Alejandro hesitated. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”
But I couldn’t.
I started watching Ryan. Noticed how he checked the mailbox first every day, how he flinched at every unknown number on his phone.
I Googled him and found nothing—until I did.
A lawsuit. A debt collector. An offshore account in his name.
I felt sick.
That night, Alejandro called again.
“I have to tell you something,” he said. “Ryan owes money to people who don’t forgive easily.”
The world tilted, just a little.
I whispered, “Why are you telling me this?”
He was quiet for a moment. Then, “Because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
I listened and thanked him. He hung up and the thoughts stayed in my head. I didn't know what else to do.
Meanwhile, in the nursery, Lisa was humming a lullaby to her belly, painting flowers over the mint-green walls.
She had no idea she was living on top of a bomb.
Holy. Freaking. Heck.
And for the first time, I wondered if she’d survive it.