Chapter 4
Olivia
Olivia wiped down the stainless steel prep table and picked up her phone. She framed the camera over the blackberry and lemon tart she had just finished decorating, snapping a quick photo. Opening her message thread with Leo, she hit send and typed out a playful caption.
If you ask nicely, I might save you a slice. Please try not to beg.
Usually, his reply would arrive within minutes. He would send a dramatic threat about breaking in, or call her Lily of the Valley, or demand she put the tart in a locked safe until he got there.
Her phone buzzed in her palm.
Leo: It looks beautiful.
Olivia stared at the screen. She waited for a second message, maybe a punchline or a sarcastic comment, but nothing else came.
At first, she told herself she was being ridiculous.
It was just a text message. People got busy.
Leo ran a demanding business and had his own life to manage.
Yet, the brief response felt wrong. It lacked the affection she was so used to receiving from him.
It had been almost two months since she last saw him in person.
After that night making cookies together in the bakery, he became scarce.
He still answered her texts, but the replies were much shorter.
Polite. Friendly, but distant enough to make her acutely aware of the shift.
She missed her friend. She missed the ease of their banter and being someone he always made time to see.
James was on a similar trajectory. He worked late more often than not, came home exhausted, and spent his evenings scrolling through his phone.
He was physically present in their house but mentally miles away.
With Leo distant and James absent in all the ways that mattered, Olivia realized she had never felt so alone.
She thought about Sophie, Hannah, and Claire.
She loved her friends dearly, but they were consumed by motherhood.
Their group chat was full of preschool schedules, pediatrician appointments, and sleep training routines.
Olivia understood, and she was genuinely happy for them.
But she missed the days when they could grab coffee on a whim or sit down for a long dinner without planning it weeks in advance.
She felt ashamed of her own neediness. She did not want to be the friend who made everyone feel guilty for living their lives.
But underneath the understanding, it hurt to feel like everyone else was moving forward while she was stuck.
Her friends had growing families and visible milestones.
She had her business, but her private life felt frozen in place, waiting for her marriage to wake up.
Determined to shake off the melancholy, Olivia went to the mall that afternoon to find a dress for James’s company dinner. She wanted to look beautiful. She wanted James to look at her and remember why they were together. She wanted the night to serve as a real chance to reconnect.
She spent an hour navigating the boutiques, carrying an armful of options into a brightly lit fitting room.
The harsh fluorescent lights overhead illuminated every doubt in her mind as she unzipped dresses and let fabrics cascade over her shoulders.
She tried on a sleek black column dress, but it felt too rigid.
She stepped into an emerald silk slip, adjusting the delicate straps, only to decide it clung in the wrong places.
She traced her fingers over the varied textures, feeling the coarse tulle and the smooth satin, searching for the right version of herself.
Finally, she pulled out a sapphire blue chiffon dress.
She slid it on, pulling the zipper up her spine.
The material draped elegantly, gathering at her waist before flowing down to her knees.
She looked at her reflection, tilting her head.
She caught herself wondering if James would like the color, trying to guess his preference, before firmly reminding herself she should choose something she liked.
As she walked out of the boutique, shopping bag in hand, she stopped in her tracks.
Leo was standing outside a coffee shop a few yards away.
He was not alone. Beside him stood a tall, stunning Black woman Olivia had never seen before.
The woman possessed an effortless confidence, gesturing with her hands as she spoke.
She said something that made Leo scowl. Then she laughed, a bright, genuine sound that carried over the noise of the shoppers.
Leo tried to maintain his serious expression, but a small smile broke through before he managed to hide it.
The sight affected Olivia far more than she expected.
That was the Leo she missed—the faux-serious exterior that melted for the right person, the hidden smiles, the private rhythm he only shared with people who knew how to get under his skin.
A tight knot formed in her chest. She did not know what to call the feeling.
She told herself it was just surprise, mixed with the sting that he was too busy to visit the bakery but had plenty of time for this woman.
Olivia hesitated. She almost turned around to walk the other way, but Leo glanced up and his eyes locked onto hers.
She put on a brave face and walked over. "Leo. Hi."
The greeting felt unusually tense. He looked caught off guard, shifting his stance. He was not rude, but the usual relaxed posture he kept around her was gone. "Hey, Liv."
The woman turned, offering a bright, polite smile.
Leo cleared his throat. "Olivia, this is Brooklyn. A friend."
An ache flared in Olivia’s chest. Not because Brooklyn was standing there, but because she did not believe him.
They looked like more than friends. What truly stung was that Leo did not just say so.
In the past, whenever he dated someone, he brought it up casually.
He never hid those things. He never acted strange about it.
"It is nice to meet you," Brooklyn said, extending a hand. Her grip was firm and friendly. "Leo has mentioned your bakery."
"It is nice to meet you too," Olivia replied, shaking her hand. She looked at Leo, trying to keep her voice light. "Shopping?"
"Something like that," Leo answered, his voice guarded.
Brooklyn bumped his shoulder playfully. "I am trying to fix his wardrobe. It is a hopeless cause. The man only wears black and denim."
"It works for me," Leo muttered, giving her a dry look, but he did not pull away from the touch.
Olivia noticed every detail of the interaction. She clutched her shopping bag, feeling like an intruder. "Well, I should let you two get back to it. I still have a few errands to run before I head home."
"Have a good night, Liv," Leo said.
He did not try to stop her. He did not ask when she was free. He did not ask for a piece of the tart she baked. He just let her walk away. As Olivia navigated through the crowded mall, she could not shake the awful feeling that she was being left behind.
***
Three days later, Olivia stood in her hallway, smoothing her hands over the sapphire blue chiffon.
She had spent over an hour getting ready.
She styled her blonde hair into loose waves, carefully applied her makeup to highlight her green eyes, and spritzed her wrists with the vanilla perfume James used to love.
She wanted to look undeniable. She wanted him to see the effort, to look at her and remember the passion they used to share.
Taking a deep breath, she walked into the living room. James was standing by the sofa, adjusting the silver cufflinks on his crisp white shirt. He was engrossed in his phone, his thumb swiping across the screen.
Olivia paused in the center of the room, waiting for him to look up. The seconds dragged on. He finished his email, tapped the screen, and finally lifted his head. His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second before dropping right back to his device.
"You look nice, Liv," he said, his tone entirely distracted. "Are you ready to go?"
The compliment felt hollow, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.
He had barely even looked at her. He did not notice the dress.
He did not notice her hair. The two hours of careful preparation were met with a passing glance and a generic sentence.
The rejection settled deep in her chest, a physical ache that she forced herself to swallow down as she grabbed her clutch.
***
The restaurant the firm chose was polished and loud, with mirrored walls and brass fixtures reflecting the dim lighting.
When they arrived, they made the rounds.
They were welcomed by the senior partners, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with people dressed in tailored suits and expensive jewelry.
For the last twenty minutes, Olivia stood beside James in a circle of his colleagues, holding a glass of wine she barely touched. The atmosphere felt stifling. They were laughing at inside jokes about acquisitions and discussing clients she did not know.
Amanda held court in the center of the group. The woman was undeniably charming, steering every topic back to herself or to James. And she touched him constantly.
At first, Olivia tried to dismiss it. Amanda was expressive. She tapped Greg’s arm when she laughed. She leaned close to Mark when she spoke. Olivia told herself not to be unfair. She did not want to read into things.
But as the hour wore on, the pattern became undeniable.
Amanda touched James far more than anyone else.
She rested her hand on his forearm. She tapped his shoulder.
When she laughed, she placed her palm flat on his chest. At one point, she reached up and brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his jacket lapel.
James did not step back. He engaged with her, entertained and present in a way Olivia had not seen in months.
Olivia tried to join the conversation. "We were actually talking about a similar expansion for the bakery last week—"
"James, tell them about the Longford account," Amanda interrupted, smoothly talking over her.
"Oh, the Longford account was a disaster until Wednesday," James said, laughing and turning his attention right back to Amanda.
He missed Olivia’s attempt to speak. Olivia stood there, feeling invisible.
When the group shifted to order another round of drinks, Olivia pulled James aside. She kept her voice hushed, choosing her words with care. "James, can I talk to you for a second?"
"Make it quick," he said, checking his watch. "Mark is waiting for me."
"I know Amanda is friendly with everyone, but the touching is a little much tonight."
James sighed, his expression hardening into irritation. "Are we really doing this right now?"
"I am just telling you how it makes me feel," Olivia said, her heart beating fast. "She has had her hand on your chest three times."
"Liv, you need to stop being so insecure," James snapped, his tone clipped and embarrassing. "It is not an attractive trait in a woman."
The words landed with a biting sting. Olivia stared at him. She was not just hurt by the accusation; she was deeply wounded that he would say it here, treating her like an inconvenience when she had tried to communicate instead of making a scene.
"You hurt my feelings," Olivia said, her voice remarkably controlled despite the ache in her throat.
James barely registered the statement. "Maybe you need a drink," he said dismissively. He gestured toward the other side of the room. "Go to the bar. I need to finish this conversation with Mark."
He turned his back on her, walking right back to his friends.
Olivia stood frozen for a second, humiliated and aching.
She nodded to the empty space where her husband had just been, turned on her heel, and walked toward the mahogany bar.
The noise of the restaurant buzzed around her, but as she navigated through the crowded room, she had never felt so painfully alone.