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“I won’t reach out to you. I’ll give you your space, whatever you need, but I will not give up on us.”

Talia’s body vibrates with her silent sobs. If she wanted me to stay, she’d stop me from walking out of the house. Instead, she watches me leave. All the way down the path toward the waiting car, her wretched expression casting a dark shadow on every step.

The driver opens the door for me, and the moment I step inside, regret punches through me.

We bicker; we don’t fight, but this is a war. Surely it can only last a few weeks until she cools down and I get my head on straight. She’ll reach out soon, probably as soon as I get to the airport.

I risk one last glance at her and I don’t take my eyes off my wife, standing statuesque on the front lawn. Too quickly, she disappears from view, and the moment she does, the last thread holding us together snaps.

FORTY-SIX

TATE

I pout from my spot on the bed as Talia pulls on a pair of leggings. “I’ll be gone thirty minutes top. Stop sulking.”

My bottom lip pushes out farther.

She snorts. “Your prescription needs filling, and it’ll ease my nerves if you do it here. Not New York.”

I pull out the puppy dog eyes.

“You’re such a baby.” She kisses the top of my head, dusting her fingers over my back. “Make sure you take your meds. It’s past eight.”

As she goes to move away, I catch her by the waist, peering up at her. “I love how caring you are to the people in your life. Not just me. We’re all lucky to have you.”

Her shoulders drop in surprise, and her mouth works to find a response.

I press a kiss to her knuckles. “You don’t need to say anything.”

“Thank you,” she whispers before going in for the lips. Her smile is warm as she backs out of the bedroom. “Meds. Now.”

Three minutes later, I hear the truck backing out of the driveway and I hop out of bed, stretching out my stiff limbs. The past week, we’ve been inseparable. Insatiable. So immersed in one another, it’s going to be an impossible task to board a plane in five hours. She offered to drive me to the airport, but we agreed it’s best if she stays here. The paparazzi could be waiting for me, and the last thing I want is our goodbye to be ruined by their presence.

But this time, we’re going to be okay.

I take my meds, shower, and finish packing. My guitar sits in the corner of the guest room, untouched. I still haven’t opened the case and I wonder if I’ll even remember how to play. It’s an issue for after I left Iris Meadows. I blow out a breath as I search through my bag for my passport. Howard mentioned a potential trip to Canada, but I can’t remember the last time I saw it. Talia always kept our personal documents neatly filed away in her office, so I amble downstairs.

I take stock of her study—the small succulent next to her laptop, her pot of pens, the Post-its stuck to the wall. She’s taken the day off today, and I wonder if she’ll work in here tomorrow or go into the office. This time, I won’t have to guess what she’s up to. We’ll be talking, calling, texting, FaceTiming. Fuck, I’d communicate with an aerial banner in the sky, anything to fill the void of not being with her.

There’s still no sign of my passport after I ransack the filing cabinet and the top drawers of her desk, but then I remember her saying the bottom one is busted. I grab the toolbox and see what I can do. There’s a lock on the outside, but no key around. After trying to work out what’s wrong with it, I give up and jimmy it open. She said she was getting a new one anyway.

With some brute force, it pops open.

There isn’t much inside, a couple of folders and rogue pieces of paper. I shuffle through them before placing them next to her laptop when words stare up at me.

Complaint for Divorce.

My brain doesn’t make the connection.

Why would our names be on a document like this?

The longer I stare, the more my disbelief fades, morphing into nauseating realization.

Divorce.

Talia.

Tate.