Where Fireworks Faded to Embers

Yvan's face tensed for a split second before he managed. "I've spent enough time with her. It's your turn."

The words hung awkwardly in the air, and he looked down, clearly feeling the weight of their absurdity.

I did not call him out on his lie. Instead, I played along with his act.

After all, that day was set to be our last as a married couple.

It had its own kind of significance.

…

The final day was ticking away.

Yvan had been a no-show since our last conversation.

He must have been busy keeping Wren calm.

However, at night, he would share the day's random bits and pieces with me.

Celebrity rumors, a stray cat spotted on his walk, and the latest viral memes.

It was like we were any other long-distance couple, passing the time with chit-chat about nothing much at all.

Yet, after five years of marriage, Yvan and I had never really opened up about the stuff that mattered.

I could not figure out why he had started that out of the blue, and frankly, I did not care to.

I had been swamped with moving those last few days, shipping box after box to my new place in Cascade City.

I had even dealt with the realtors, leasing out a hundred properties I owned.

All that must have caught his attention because that night, he rang me up. "Heard from Mr. Rogers you're moving?"

I answered without much thought, "Yeah, remember I mentioned heading to the west side of town? I'm fond of that area."

Yvan hesitated, then offered, "You know, setting off fireworks there wouldn't be a bad idea."

I laughed it off. "No need. I'm good."

He seemed to ease up. "Alright, then meet me there tomorrow night."

I gave a noncommittal grunt, just as my phone buzzed with the confirmation of my flight booking.

However, Yvan, as if he had a sixth sense, insisted, "Make sure you wait for me."

I agreed. "Sure."

However, the following night, he was a no-show.

His assistant, Kent, sheepishly told me Yvan was tied up in a meeting and would be late.

However, there it was on social media: Wren setting floating candles adrift on a lake, with Yvan right there behind her.

I checked the time, my flight was in four hours.

The divorce papers would be final in two.

I doubt I'll ever get to tell him the news face-to-face.

Three hours to go.

Here I am, standing in the villa Yvan gave me, gazing out at the river.

Candles drift on the water, heading out to sea. I wonder if he and Wren set one of those afloat.

His promise from yesterday makes me chuckle. If he knew that was my last time waiting for him to come through, would he rush back?

Back in my room, I glance at the petite suitcase in the living room. I owned very little.

Especially there.

That villa was his way of saying sorry for the hundredth time.

Somehow, leaving it behind felt right.

Two hours left, and my lawyer's email pops up.

[Congratulations, Ms. Shaw, on your divorce. We'll send the divorce papers over.]

With one hour to go, I held the papers in my hands.

It was official. My marriage had become history.

I grabbed my suitcase, ready to head out.

The highway to the airport was clogged.

In the car, I caught sight of Yvan speeding westward.

I looked away, knowing that brief crossing of paths was our goodbye.

However, Yvan slammed on his brakes and looked right at me…