The Contract Wife Chapter 06
Early the next morning, my lawyer and Ashford Holdings’ PR team issued a joint statement.
The language was official and restrained: “The two parties have decided to end their marriage due to irreconcilable differences. Divorce proceedings began several months ago and have been amicable. We ask that the media and public respect our privacy.”
An hour later, we were seated in a law firm’s conference room in Lower Manhattan.
My lawyer and the team he’d brought verified every clause of the separation agreement.
On the way out, at the elevator bank, he suddenly spoke.
“Evelyn.”
I looked up.
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling window, casting shadows across the sharp angles of his face.
He looked tired. Faint circles under his eyes.
“Thank you. And… I’m sorry.”
I nodded. “Take care of yourself.”
His mouth opened again as if he had more to say, but I didn’t give him the chance. “The divorce petition has been filed. There’s a waiting period. My lawyer will contact you when it’s time to sign the final decree.”
He froze for a beat.
By then I had already turned and started down the steps.
The sun was bright. I squinted against it.
Before I reached the car waiting at the curb, my phone rang.
Before I could climb into the waiting car, it began buzzing furiously.
My best friend.
“Evelyn! Have you seen the news? Right after your divorce statement dropped, somebody leaked the fact that you had a crush on Nathan back in college!”
My step faltered. My heart skipped.
“Look at the link I just sent you!”
I tapped it open. A Twitter link.
The account belonged to a long-established coffee shop near Columbia.
The most recent tweet had a yellowed photo attached.
The first image: a corner of the coffee shop. A young woman with long, loose hair, in a simple white T-shirt, was stealing a glance at the table beside her. That table was occupied by a few young men. One had a stern profile and was reading a hardcover book, head lowered.
Eighteen-year-old me. Twenty-year-old Nathan.
The second image: a laminated sticky note pinned to a wishing wall in the shop, the ink faded now:
“Evelyn hopes Nathan is happy every day.”
“Came across these while sorting through old things. 2015. Back when she was still a girl who wrote quiet notes on Post-its. Time changes people. It’s a little sad.”
The sun was hot on my face. My eyes stung.
I turned off the phone, got into the waiting car.
“To the airport.”
The car pulled out into traffic.
In the rearview mirror, the office tower shrank smaller and smaller.
The phone buzzed again.