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The panic lifts, followed by trepidation. Jesus, the range of emotions this relationship wrangles out of me is becoming health-threatening. And now I’m apparently a drama queen. Fuck.

With the bout of anxiety subsided, I now notice that a delicious smell of garlic and curry permeates the air. I don’t find Saar in the kitchen, so I head outside.

Sure enough, bundled in one of her knitted shawls, she is staring into the flames, her legs curled under her.

She’s a fucking vision. I’m rooted to the ground for a beat before I can breathe finally. “You’re here,” I rasp.

She turns and smiles. “You’re back.”

I rush to her and pull her close, seizing her lips. She tenses at first, but then wraps her arms around me and yields to me.

“Hi.” She smiles when we pull apart.

“Hi yourself.”

“I cooked you dinner.” Dark shadows line her eyes. She probably hasn’t slept much again. Fuck.

“And you redesigned again.”

She smiles. “Yeah, I realized I didn’t give you much reason to believe you can be reasonable with me.”

“Baby, if you really want to have a tacky, over-cluttered living room, we will have that.”

“God, no, we wouldn’t be able to entertain.” She wraps her arms around my waist, and I want to stay here like this forever.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Curry chicken with roasted baby potatoes.”

“Fuck. Those cooking classes in Tuscany paid off.”

She laughs, and it hits me straight in my chest.

I’m going to stay here to give us a chance.

I guess she truly meant it.

“I spoke with Nora Flemming today.” Saar blows her tea, holding it close to herself.

My wife can cook. Like she’s a fucking goddess in the kitchen. After we ate, we came back out here.

I haven’t used this patio much before. Once, maybe twice, since I’ve moved here. It’s slowly but surely becoming my favorite place in the house. But I guess any place is my favorite if she is there with me.

“Did you take the job?” I draw lazy circles on her shoulder.

“I did. I’m officially a podcast host. I’m recording my first show on Monday.” She bites her lip.

“You’re going to be great.”

She beams at me now. “Thank you for believing in me.”

“Always.” I take her tea from her and put it on the table. Cupping her face, I dust her lips with mine. “I missed you.”

“I want a divorce.”

The warmth of the fire ceases. The tentatively lighter atmosphere between us shatters. My heart stops and restarts in a new distorted rhythm.

“No.”