Chapter 6
Noah
I walk into my office and head straight for the mahogany desk, but my chest feels too tight to sit down. I stand there for a second, my pulse hammering in my throat, before I start to pace the room.
John her ex-boyfriend, the one from before our life even began.
A dry, bitter laugh escapes my throat, low and hollow.
Jealousy isn't a slow burn. it is a physical puncture under my ribs, sharp and sudden, locking my focus until I cannot see or think past the two of them.
My mind loops back to the image from the studio...
his hands wrapping around her elbow, holding her up when her balance failed.
But then, she was beautiful today. As beautiful as the very first morning I saw her.
We were in college, and I was standing near the lecture hall quad talking to Isaiah when she walked past us.
A scent followed her... something sweet and completely unique...
and I turned just in time to see her throw her head back to laugh.
I was captivated. I stood rooted to the concrete, entirely unable to look away from the shape of her smile. I had forgotten how that felt.
I pull up my digital calendar to check my schedule for the rest of the afternoon, and a small wave of relief hits me when the grid shows entirely blank. I don't stay at the studio. I grab my keys and drive back to the house.
The lock clicks open, and I step into the foyer, but the silence of the empty rooms doesn't offer any comfort.
The picture my eyes captured at Moonrise News stays back in my memory instead.
I walk into the living room, pick up the remote, and turn on the television, unable to stop myself from scrolling until their faces fill the screen.
It is a live digital feed. I reach for the bottle of grape wine on the counter...
the sweet, dark kind she always kept in the cellar...
and pour a glass, but the first sip does nothing to quiet the noise in my head.
On the screen, an interviewer leans toward John. "Looking at the live comment feed, the audience remembers you used to have a history with Lily, the news princess. How does it feel now that you have both lost your partners and are working together again?"
The crystal glass shatters in my grip.
A sharp piece of glass digs into my palm, but I don't move. I watch the television in quiet agony as John lets out a smooth, easy smile. He shifts his shoulders, looking directly into the lens, and says, "Well, it’s always nice to have someone beautiful around the set."
He finishes his scripted transition, and the moment the feed cuts to a commercial block, I hit the power button.
I walk to the kitchen sink, holding my hand under the cold tap to wash the bright red blood from my skin.
The water runs pink down the drain, but my fingers stay anchored against the stainless-steel divider.
I look down, my mind picturing Lily standing in this exact kitchen, washing her hand after the blue mug broke, while Celeste and I were on screen together.
I imagine her hearing the same back-and-forth gossip, feeling the same invisible blade between her ribs.
Slowly, my knees give out, and I slide down the front of the cabinet until I am sitting on the floor. My thoughts travel straight back to her. The reality of losing her feels real now... heavy... now that John has stepped into the space I left wide open.
***
Because I haven't gotten used to the long roads leading out to Ronny’s house, I beg Clinton to drive us again. He looks up from the stack of production briefs on his desk, pauses for a long second, and then shuts his laptop. He doesn't complain. He just grabs his keys.
An hour later, I am sitting in the low light of Ronny’s office, my hands resting on my knees.
"Can you help me find out where I went wrong?
" I ask, my voice dropping into a tone that sounds entirely desperate.
"Because I don't know. I feel like I'm missing the entire middle of the story, and I don't know how to reconnect with her.
How do I get to hug her again? I know I am asking for the impossible, but I need things to go back to how they used to be. "
Ronny watches me from his chair. "Breathe," he says gently.
I blink. "I am."
"No, like literally breathe, Noah. Let your shoulders drop."
I take a long, slow breath, letting the air expand in my chest before releasing it. Ronny stands up from his desk, crosses the room, and sits on the leather sofa to my left, his notepad balanced on his knee, a pen loosely held between his fingers.
"Was there ever a point in your marriage where you felt yourself actively distancing from your wife?"
I look at the floor, the answer sitting on the tip of my tongue, but I hesitate.
"It’s a safe space, Noah," Ronny says, his voice dropping into a calmer, quieter rhythm. It pulls the truth right out of my throat.
"I lost my dad," I say softly. "Right after she gave birth to our son, Liam."
As the words leave my mouth, the walls of the office seem to recede, and I am standing back in that cold hospital room sixteen years ago.
"We... well, I sort of panicked. My dad died from compiled stress.
The doctors said his heart just gave out from the hours he worked.
I became terrified of ending up like him, but I was even more terrified of becoming poor.
I felt incompetent, like I couldn't secure our future, and I didn't want Lily to see me that way. So I buried myself in work."
Ronny nods, his pen staying still. "Were you speaking with anyone else about this?"
"My workmates, I guess. The producers. People at the network."
"Did Lily complain to you?"
"I can't remember the exact words," I whisper, looking at my knuckles. "But there were nights she stood in the doorway. She wanted to speak with me. I just told her I was too tired."
"Do you think, based on what you know of her heart, that she still loves you?"
I swallow against the lump in my throat. "I guess I do."
"I'll tell you what I see," Ronny says, leaning forward.
"She was frustrated, Noah. She wanted to breathe, she wanted to prove a point, and her first line of defense for her own sanity was to hand you those papers.
I don't think she truly wants the divorce to cross the finish line, but you will stay separated for a very long time if you don't learn how to woo her again... with intention and with knowledge."
"How do you mean?"
Ronny pauses, tapping his pen rhythmically against the edge of his notepad before meeting my eyes. "Women are affectionate. They have a different capacity for emotional detail than we do, and they take the silence to heart."
He sets the pen down completely, leaning back into the cushions. "When we move through a marriage, we have to think intentionally about the small things. Your problem is that you don't know exactly what you did wrong."
I look up at him, opening my mouth to speak, but he raises a hand to hold my attention.
"To fix it, you eventually have to ask her," Ronny continues, his voice firm. "But you can't speak to her right now. I wouldn't even advise a phone call. You need to figure out your faults on your own while trying your best to show her you see her. Then, when the air clears, you ask."
I nod, trying to take the weight of it into my head.
"Nothing just happens further down the line in a marriage," Ronny continues, leaning over his knees. "You have to choose what you want. Speak to your wife when you get the chance. Kiss her when you can. Let her know how beautiful she is. Wish her a happy birthday."
I freeze, my eyes snapping up to his face. "Say that last part again."
"Let her know she's beautiful?"
I move my index finger in a small circle, telling him to roll the words back. "No. After that."
"Wish her a happy birthday?"
"Yes," I say, the warmth of sudden shame heating my face until my ears burn. "Ronny... I don't remember the last time I celebrated her birthday."
Ronny shuts his notepad with a soft click. "You don't mean that, Noah."
"I do."
"Did she celebrate yours?"
I bow my head into my palms, the leather of the sofa cool against my forehead. "God, yes. Every single year. She made the cake with the kids. She bought the shirts I wear on air." I look up, my chest aching. "What can I do?"
"Has Clint added you to the WhatsApp group yet?"
"Not yet."
"Tell him to add you tonight," Ronny says, standing up. "Introduce yourself and ask the question right away."
"What question?"
"There are eight of us in that chat," Ronny says, walking toward the door.
"Men from all over the map who messed up with their wives and had to learn how to grovel from scratch.
When you start over again, Noah, it's more beautiful than the first time.
Because you learn and you unlearn. You start fresh with the combined knowledge of the past...
what you shouldn't do... and the reality of how important this person actually is to your life. "
He pulls open the door and steps into the hall, calling out for Clinton. Within three minutes, Clint walks in, his phone already out.
"I think Noah here is ready to learn some rizz," Ronny grins, gesturing toward the desk. "Add him to the call. Let the guys give him a reality check."
"Got it," Clint says, his thumb scrolling quickly over his screen. "I promise you'll love these guys, Noah. You're about to get a cheat code because everyone in this group speaks from experience."
A second later, my phone vibrates in my pocket. A notification highlights the screen: You have been added to the group.
"Join the call," Clint says, nodding toward my screen.
We both hit the green icon, the line clicking as we wait for the digital room to fill. Within sixty seconds, a tone chimes, and then four other profiles pop up on the display.
"Hello, brothers," a deep voice says through the speaker. "I see we have a new face."
"Clint," another voice chimes in. "Someone's wife left them?"
Clint laughs into the microphone. "What makes you say that, Abraham?"
"Because that's the only reason anyone ever joins this corner of the internet," Abraham replies.
"Fair enough," Clint says, turning the camera slightly so it catches all three of us in the office. "Everyone, meet Noah. He's with me and Ronny right now, and he needs some direction."
Clint nods at me, and I reach down to unmute my microphone. "Hello. I'm Noah. And just like Clint said... I need help."
"I'm Abraham," the first man says.
"Winston here."
"Charles."
"Hi, I'm Brandon," a younger voice adds from a noisier background.
"So, yeah," Ronny takes the phone, leaning over the back of the sofa. "Noah here has messed up pretty bad."
"What did he do?" Winston asks. "I mean, he can't be as bad as forgetting a birthday, or is it worse?"
"He didn't wish his wife a happy birthday for years," Ronny delivers plainly.
A collective groan echoes through the speaker. "Oh," Abraham says. "That's a lot of trouble you're in, big man."
"I think Brandon can help with that one," Charles says.
We hear the sound of a garage door closing before Brandon’s audio clears up. "Oh, man. I don't know about that. I just apologized the very first time it happened to me."
"Yeah, well, Noah's wife already signed the separation papers," Ronny adds.
"Ouch," Brandon mutters. "So it's back to the heavy groveling, then. I'm guessing Ronny already told you to start writing the letters?"
"Yeah," I say, my voice clear over the speaker. "Does that stuff actually work, Clint?"
"It works," three of them answer at the exact same time.
"Then how do I do it right?" I ask, leaning closer to the screen. "How do I write something that makes her listen?"
"The trick is to be brutally honest," Winston says. "And persistent. Don't write what you think she wants to hear. Write the ugly truth."
"Yes," Abraham adds. "And those intimate details at the end... make sure you put them in. But that only works if you're completely certain she still holds a candle for you."
"We could help you craft the next one right now if you want," Winston offers.
I look at the row of faces on the screen. "You're sure?"
"Yeah," Abraham says. "We've got time."
"Sure," Brandon chimes in. "Let's hear it."
"So, the thing is..." I begin.