19. Theo
THEO
I'd been sitting at the bench for half an hour before she came.
Mid-afternoon in early spring, the air still cold but not biting.
The willow tree beside me was starting to show the first signs of coming back, tiny buds along the bare branches.
The bench itself hadn't changed. Same weathered wood, same peeling paint curling back in long strips along the armrest, same worn slats under my hands.
I shifted my weight and the slats creaked faintly beneath me.
The bench was still here after all this time, worn but solid, holding its place.
I'd sat in a thousand different places in the last twelve years and none of them had felt as solid as this.
I wasn't sure she'd show. I'd asked her to meet me here three days ago, sent the message and stared at my phone for an hour after, waiting for the three dots that would tell me she was typing.
They never came. Can we talk? The bench, at two.
She hadn't answered. So I'd come anyway. Sat here and waited.
I looked up at the tree trunk. The letters were still there, stretched wider than they'd been twelve years ago.
Theo & Lena, Always. I'd carved them with a borrowed pocket knife the night I proposed, kneeling on the cold ground with her laughing at how long it was taking me, at how I kept stopping to make sure the letters were even.
Crude work. Uneven. Too deep in some places, barely there in others.
The bark had grown around them since then, rougher at the edges, but still readable.
Always.
What a stupid promise that had been.
I heard her footsteps on the path before I saw her. My hands tightened on the edge of the bench. Then she came around the corner and stopped.
She stood a few feet from the bench, not coming closer. Dark green coat, her hands in the pockets. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, the way she used to wear it on weekends when we were first married. No ring on her finger. There hadn't been one for months, but I still looked every time.
"Theo."
"Lena."
God, just hearing her say my name. Just that. Just the way she said it, flat and careful, like she was holding something back.
She didn't sit down. She stood there, looking at the bench, at the tree, at me. I got to my feet. Didn't want her standing while I sat.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," I said.
"I wasn't sure either." Her voice was quiet. She looked past me at the tree, and I saw the moment she spotted the carving. Something changed in her face, just for a second, a flicker of something I couldn't read. Then she looked away.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Once. Twice. A third time in quick succession.
I didn't reach for it.
It kept going. Someone calling. One of the managers, or the network, or the production team. Didn't matter who. I left it where it was and kept my eyes on her.
She'd noticed. She glanced down at my coat pocket, then back up at my face.
"You should?—"
"No."
The phone stopped. Started again almost immediately, a different rhythm this time. Messages piling up. I could feel it vibrating against my side, insistent. I didn't move.
Lena's hand went to her bare finger, the place where her ring used to sit. She caught herself and dropped her hand. "Theo, if it's important?—"
"It's not." I took a step closer. Not too close. Just enough that she'd know I meant it. "Nothing's more important than this."
She stared at me. I couldn't read the look on her face. The phone went quiet. Finally.
"I got your message," she said. "About the diner."
"It's almost done." I'd sent her a text two days ago. The diner's ready. I'd like you to see it. She hadn't answered that one either.
"I don't know if I can."
"I'm not asking you to." God, this was harder than I'd thought it would be. "I just wanted you to know. That's all."
She pulled her coat tighter around herself. The wind picked up, rattling the bare branches above us. "Why did you want to meet here?"
"I came here a few weeks ago and just . . . stayed. Sat on this bench for two hours. It seemed like the right place."
"For what?"
"To tell you I'm sorry. Again. For all of it."
She looked at me for a long moment. "You already said that. At the diner."
"I know."
"So why?—"
"Because I need you to know I meant it." I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her. "And because I wanted to see you."
Her face did something I couldn't name. She turned away, looked at the tree again. When she spoke her voice was barely above a whisper.
"I'm scared, Theo."
I waited. Didn't say anything. Let her talk.
"I'm scared that this—" She gestured at the bench, at me, at the tree.
"That all of this is temporary. That in six months the cameras will call you back, or the next big project will come up, and you'll go right back to the way things were.
" She looked at me, and I saw the fear in her eyes, raw and real.
"And I can't do that again. I can't be invisible in my own marriage again. I won't survive it a second time."
Every word landed like a blow. I wanted to tell her no, that wouldn't happen, that I'd changed. I wanted to promise her I'd never go back. I wanted to argue and convince and make her believe me.
I didn't.
"You're right to be scared," I said.
She blinked. "What?"
"You're right. I can't promise you that won't happen. I can't prove I've changed, not in a way that matters. Not yet." I looked down at the ground between us. "All I can do is keep showing you. Every day. For as long as it takes."
"Theo—"
"I didn't fight the divorce."
That stopped her. She went still. She stared at me like I'd said something in a language she didn't speak.
"I didn't fight it," I said again, slower, making sure she heard every word.
"I didn't fight the divorce because it was what you asked for.
And I'd spent twelve years not giving you what you asked for.
Not listening. Not paying attention." I met her eyes.
"So I signed the papers. I let the lawyers do their work. I let it go through. I let you go."
Her hand went to her finger again. This time she didn't drop it. She just stood there, rubbing the bare skin where the ring used to be, over and over.
"I don't understand you," she said finally. Her voice was shaking. Just a little.
"I know."
"You're not the man I married."
"No. I'm not." I held her gaze. "I'm trying to be better than him."
She was quiet for a long time. The wind picked up again, and I watched her pull her coat tighter. Then she said it.
"What about Bianca?"
The question came out flat. Direct. I should've expected it. Should've been ready. I wasn't.
"She's gone."
"Gone," Lena repeated. The word came out toneless. Like she didn't believe me. Like she'd heard this before and knew how it ended.
"I ended her contract months ago. Told everyone in the industry what she did, made sure they knew exactly why I was cutting ties." I kept my voice level. Factual. "She doesn't work for me. Doesn't work for anyone in my world anymore. She's finished. She's gone for good."
Lena searched my face, her eyes moving over every inch like she was looking for the crack in the story, the place where the lie would show through. I didn't know if she found it.
"Okay," she said.
That was all. Just okay. Not I believe you. Not I forgive you. Just okay.
The wind picked up again, colder this time. She pulled her coat tighter.
"I should go," she said.
"Yeah."
She didn't move right away. She stood there, looking at me, and I looked back.
Memorizing her the way I should've been doing for twelve years.
The curve of her jaw. The way her hair caught the light, a few strands pulling loose from the ponytail.
The exact shade of brown in her eyes. The small scar on her chin from when she'd fallen off her bike as a kid, barely visible but I knew where to look.
I'd spent twelve years not paying attention and I was paying for it now.
I wanted to kiss her. Wanted to pull her into my arms and hold on and never let go. Wanted to tell her I loved her, that I'd never stopped, that I'd been an idiot and a fool and I'd spend the rest of my life making it up to her if she'd let me.
I didn't do any of it.
"Take care of yourself, Lena."
She nodded. Then she turned and walked away, her boots making soft sounds on the pavement.
I watched her go. Watched until she turned the corner and disappeared and I couldn't see her anymore. Then I sat back down on the bench, in the same spot I'd been sitting before she came.
The letters on the tree looked different from this angle. The shadows were deeper now, creeping across the bark as the afternoon faded. Theo & Lena, Always. We'd carved those words when we still believed them. When always had seemed possible. Easy, even.
It didn't seem easy now. But I was still here.
My phone buzzed again. I pulled it out, looked at the screen. Seven missed calls. Fifteen messages. Three different people needing me for emergencies that probably weren't emergencies at all.
I scrolled past them. Found Marcus's number. Hit call.
He picked up on the second ring. "About damn time. I've been trying to reach you for an hour."
"I know."
"We've got a problem with the investor meeting. They want to move it up to next week, and Paolo's freaking out about the numbers, and the lawyers are saying we need to?—"
"Marcus."
He stopped mid-sentence. Went quiet.
"I need you to take over."
Silence. Then: "Take over what?"
"Everything. The restaurants. The show. The investors. The whole operation." I looked up at the tree, at the letters, at the sky going dark above me. "I'm stepping back."
"Stepping back." Marcus's voice was carefully neutral. "For how long?"
"Permanently."
Another pause. Longer this time. I could hear traffic in the background on his end, someone honking. "Jesus, Theo. You're serious."
"Yeah."
"Does Lena know?"
"No."
"Are you going to tell her?"
"Not yet."
I could hear him breathing on the other end. Thinking it through. Working through it the way he always did, methodical and careful. "You know this doesn't fix anything," he said finally. "Not by itself."
"I know."
"And you're doing it anyway."
"Yeah."
He was quiet for another moment. Then he let out a breath, slow and deliberate. "All right. We'll need to sit down. Go through everything. The contracts, the partnerships, the staffing. Figure out the whole transition."
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," he agreed. Then: "Theo?"
"Yeah?"
"For what it's worth?" He paused. "I think you're doing the right thing."
I didn't answer that. I wasn't sure there was a right thing anymore. I was just trying to be less wrong.
"Thanks, Marcus."
I hung up. Sat there in the fading light, the phone in my hand. The screen went dark. I slid it back into my pocket.
Then I reached into my other pocket and pulled out the ring.
Lena's wedding ring. The one she'd left behind in my world, on the table where she'd been seated the night she walked out.
I'd kept it with me every day since I'd found it.
Carried it everywhere. In my pocket when I worked on the diner, when I met with the lawyers, when I sat in this same spot three weeks ago staring at the carving we'd made.
A reminder of what I'd lost. What I was trying to get back. What I might never get back at all.
It caught the last of the light, a thin band of gold against my palm. Simple. Plain. We'd picked it out together, back when we were planning the wedding. Back when we were young and stupid and thought love was enough. I closed my fingers around it. Felt the weight of it. The realness of it.
She'd walked away. Again. And I'd let her go. Again.
But I was still here. Still working. Still trying. Still holding on to this ring like it meant something.
Still wanting her.
I stood up from the bench. Looked at the tree one more time, at the words we'd carved into it when we were young and stupid and so sure of always.
The light was almost gone now, the sky turning that particular shade of gray that meant night was coming.
I slid the ring back into my pocket, felt it settle against my leg.
Then I turned and walked away, the cold settling in around me.
The bench stayed empty behind me.