Chapter 15
Viv
The first real rain of autumn hit the city, making the windows of the atelier shiver with every gust. I stayed late, organizing the mess from the show, pinning notes to the wall, stacking swatches in nervous, hopeful towers. At nine, the knock came.
I opened the door and found Adrian standing there, soaked through, no umbrella. He’d lost weight, and his hair had gone to hell, but he looked steadier than I remembered. He held nothing in his hands. No flowers, no pitch, no plan.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
I stepped aside. He dripped all over the entryway, but didn’t notice.
We stood in the chaos of the studio, old mannequins and new dreams crowding us. Neither of us spoke first. The clock ticked loud, then louder. I finally laughed.
“Just say it,” I told him.
He nodded, then did.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Not for everything—some things were good. But I made you feel like you were a passenger in your own life.”
The words hurt. They also fit. I looked at the floor, then at him.
“It wasn’t all you,” I said. “I let it happen. I thought… I don’t know, maybe that’s how marriages were supposed to work.”
He stepped closer, careful. “I don’t want the old marriage back. That one failed us both.”
I raised my eyebrow, uncertain. “What do you want, then?”
He smiled, a little. “If you ever choose me again, I want to earn it. I want to build something new. Not just for show, but for real.”
My hands shook. I balled them into fists.
“I still love you,” I said, and heard the surprise in my own voice. “But I won’t give up myself again. I won’t… disappear.”
He nodded. “Loving me should never require that.”
The rain hammered the roof. I wanted to cry, but instead I started laughing, huge and loud. Adrian joined in, and for a moment it felt like we were back at the beginning, when everything was raw and open and neither of us had anything to hide.
We hugged, awkward at first, then desperate. Our lips found each other’s, and I tasted salt—his or mine, I couldn’t tell.
We stayed that way for a long time.
When he finally pulled away, he said, “You don’t have to come home yet. Take as long as you need.”
I smiled, and for the first time in years, it was real.
“Thank you,” I said. “But maybe next time you can bring an umbrella.”
He laughed, and it shook the walls.
We both knew it would take time to rebuild, but we were ready.
For the first time, I believed it could last.