Page 45

Mark never stopped blowing up my phone, so I made a report to the local police station. They said they’d look into it, but I doubted it. But at least there would be a record of his behavior.
“We got a response,” my divorce lawyer muttered. “He wants everything you asked for, leaving you with nothing.”
I scoffed. “After what he did to me, that’s never going to happen.”
“I figured,” he smiled. “Want to make a counteroffer?”
“No,” I smiled. “Mark’s mistress will want to marry him, and she’ll start putting pressure on him to divorce me.Maybe he’ll cave.”
“I agree,” he responded, his printer humming. “Here are the papers again, two copies in case his mistress throws them at you again.”
“She can try,” I muttered, taking the papers from him and signing them. “All that’s missing is his signature now.”
“I also prepared the paperwork to change your name in case you want to get that process started,” he offered.
“Yes, actually. Thank you.”
“Don’t you have court today?” he wondered, glancing at the clock. “Did it end early?”
“Yeah, just asked for a continuance,” I shrugged, knowing full well that Enzo was probably breaking out right this moment. “We’re going back in a few weeks.”
“Your next client is here,” the receptionist warned my divorce lawyer.
“Sorry, Mrs. Branson,” he apologized.
“It’s fine. I’ll see you later,” I placated, getting up from my seat and going to my office.
I smiled as I saw the mail piled on my desk. I threw the junk mail out and quickly opened my letter from Enzo.
Amara,
I can still taste you on my tongue. I can’t wait to have another taste…
-Enzo
His letters were always short and sweet, contrasting to when I first met him; they used to be long, elaborate, and detailed.
Part of me wondered if that part of him was still in there somewhere. But I knew that it didn’t matter because I knew that no matter what, I accepted him for who he was.
And it terrified me.
I took a piece of paper from my printer and grabbed a pen, beginning to write my letter.
Enzo,
Not if I taste you first. See you soon.
-Amara
I grinned as I addressed and stamped the envelope, sliding it into my purse to mail later.
The sun rose and set, and my boss knocked on my office door, giving me a pointed look.
I grinned sheepishly, like a child caught in the act. “Sorry, I was just finishing up,” Iapologized.
“Pick it up tomorrow,” she chided, tapping her watch. “I have to lock up now.”
“Yes, Marta,” I told my boss, taking my purse with me as I slung it over my shoulder. She stood at my doorway, tapping her foot impatiently until I finally meandered, jogging out of the building.