After the Divorce, Married to the Quiet Billionaire Next Door

I sat on the old couch in the living room and dialed a number.

The line connected. I said hello, this is Joan Fox.

The voice on the other end said, Miss Fox, hello. I've been waiting a long time for this call.

It was Aunt Sherry, the distant cousin-aunt who had introduced me to Ethan Whitney all those years ago.

"Aunt Sherry, I need a favor. I want a divorce, but I don't have any evidence at all."

Aunt Sherry laughed, a knowing laugh. "Nothing at all? Don't be silly. That first love of his, the one who came back with her son. The boy's already that old. That means they never broke it off, not once. You're holding that card. What is there to be afraid of?"

I hung up. My mother leaned in and pressed something into my hand.

I looked down. It was a bank card.

"Your dad saved it up. Said it was for our granddaughter's schooling. Twelve thousand. Take it for now."

I didn't push it away. I closed my fist around the card and squeezed until it hurt.

My phone lit up.

Not another barrage from Ethan. A message from an unknown number.

Three words. See you tomorrow.

I thought it was spam at first, then scrolled down and saw the message my mother had sent. "Mr. Henson reached out to you."

So it was him.

I didn't reply.

My mother's lowered voice drifted out from the kitchen. "...that Whitney man is no good at all... the child burning up like that and he doesn't even care..." My father said something under his breath, too quiet for me to catch, but it made her go silent.

June coughed in the inner room. I pushed the door open. She'd already fallen back asleep.

The blanket had been kicked to one side, her little fists clenched tight.

I tucked the blanket around her again and sat by the bed for a while.

My phone buzzed.

A voice message from Ethan. I didn't open it.

Another text came right after. Fine, Joan, don't bother coming back. I'm tossing all your junk out tomorrow.

I looked at the message, set the phone aside, and turned off the light.

In the dark, June's breathing was steady and warm.

I stared at the ceiling, my eyes wide open.

The bare bulb in the hallway glared down, almost blinding.

I shut my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them again, there was nothing left in them at all. Wiped clean.

Early the next morning, my mother cooked rice porridge and steamed a custard of beaten eggs. June woke up, the fever mostly gone, her little face pale, but she could sit up and eat on her own now.

My mother fed her spoonful by spoonful. She opened her mouth obediently, and when she finished she even remembered to say thank you, Grandma.

My mother's eyes went red again. She turned her face away and wiped them.

My father went out as soon as he finished breakfast. On his way out the door, he said, "I've arranged to meet your uncle. We'll head over this afternoon."

I knew what my father was going to do.

My uncle was a lawyer who handled divorce cases.

I didn't stop him, but I said, "Dad. Don't lay a hand on him."

My father gave a grunt and pulled the door shut.

Close to ten o'clock my phone rang. It was Ethan's number.

I answered and said nothing.

He launched into a tirade on the other end.

I waited until he was done, then asked, "Your first love left? Is that why you finally thought to call me?"

There was a beat of silence on the line.

I'd caught Ethan flat-footed. He probably hadn't expected me to be so blunt.

After a few seconds, his voice rose. "You investigated me?"

"No need to investigate."

I said, "Your own son's already that old. The whole world could see it except me."

He didn't answer.

I asked him if he wanted the divorce.

"You're the one who brought it up, fine. Think it through. Once we're split, who's going to want you dragging that kid along?"

"Ten o'clock tomorrow morning. The courthouse. Don't be late."