Page 142 of My Only

“That doesn’t need language, huh?” I mused.

“Exactly.”

I shook my head, smiling. “I’m just so happy for you. I remember when you said you’d never date again.”

“And I also told you I’d always be open to love, even after everything that happened.”

“You did.”

“Because I realized I was wrong,” she admitted. “You can’t plan for life, Favorite Girl. You just gotta live it.”

I frowned, circling my fingertip against the island’s surface. “What if you did plan for it, and it’s not going according to plan? What if… what if it’s way harder than you thought it would be, and you’re not sure how long you can deal with it?”

I want a divorce.

The words echoed back at me, sharper than I remembered them, making me flinch.

Had I really said that?

Had I really meant it?

I did say it and I did mean it… but not really.

I told Hassani I wanted a divorce and, yes, I meant it… but I didn’t really want a divorce.

I wanted my husband to hear me.

I wanted him to figure out how to be successful, not just at work, but with us, too.

We were doing so well before that damn project. And while I understood that the only constant is change, I wanted us back. The us before Greene Gardens.

Aunt Laurie was quiet for a moment, and in that silence, I could hear the soft crashing of waves in her background.

What I wouldn’t give to be on a beach right now.

“You don’t throw away something valuable just because it gets hard,” Aunt Laurie finally said. “You fix it, if it’s worth it.”

She paused before adding, “And, Favorite Girl, if you planned for it—as brilliant as you are—I’d put my life on it, and bet every dollar I have, that it’s worth fixing.”

I tucked my lips into my mouth, rubbing them together.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’d much rather hear more about the Maldives and this new boy toy you got.”

“Ha!” She laughed. “I do not have a boy toy.”

“Mm-hmm.” I smirked. “You so got a boy toy, Aunt Laurie.”

After another few minutes on the phone, Aunt Laurie cut the call short to tend to her lover, as she called him.

I left the kitchen and made my way to the master bedroom.

I had been putting off decluttering my side of the walk-in closet for years. Every time I walked into the back area to grab a pair of shoes or swap out clothes for the season, I’d glance at the stacked boxes in the corner and say, “This summer, I’m going to handle that.”

But this summer? I meant it.

I got down on the closet’s carpeted floor and began pulling the cardboard boxes toward me.

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