Page 42 of Six Month Wife

It’s not that I don’t want him involved. It’s that I need this one thing to be mine. Just mine. No distractions, no safety net.

So, I swipe the notification away, letting it disappear from the screen without a response.

As I turn onto the main road, my thoughts drift to Evelyn Thatcher. I’ve admired her work ever since I researched her, but seeing her face-to-face is going to be a different experience.

Evelyn isn’t known to be the type to tolerate fluff or empty talk, and I know I’ll have to bring everything I’ve got to the table. I imagine her reviewing my products, her sharp eyes assessing every detail, every ingredient.

I pull myself back to focus, reminding myself why I’m doing this.

I’m not some starry-eyed beginner. I built this wellness idea from the ground up. I took the risk, put in the hours, and made something tangible out of nothing. I don’t need someone to rescue me—I need a partner, someone who believes in my vision and will give me the capital I need to take this line to the next level.

The miles roll by, as the mixture of nerves and excitement builds in my chest. The meeting place is a small, private office Evelyn keeps outside Boca Raton. It’s close enough to Palm Beach that she can stay connected to the island’s business community, but far enough removed that she doesn’t have to deal with the day-to-day politics of local life.

It’s the perfect setup for a woman who’s mastered the art of influence without overexposing herself.

As I near the bridge that connects the island to the mainland, my phone vibrates again. It’s another text notification from Parker.

Hey, knocked on your door – no answer. Hope you’re having a great morning. No worries about meeting up if you’re busy. I'm heading into the hospital soon and won't be off until 7.

I bite my lip, surprised by how much that message hits me. It’s thoughtful and kind, the sort of thing a real husband might say. And for a second, it makes me feel seen. Until I pull myself back to reality, a warmth fills me, grateful to have someone who tries so hard.

And then I remember he's a good method actor, and this is all part of the show.

I can’t afford to get caught up in emotions. This isn’t about affection or connection, it’s about turning it up, like he said yesterday. We agreed to play our parts, not fall for them.

This meeting, on the other hand, is about my future. It's my business, my shot at saving Citrine.

So I let the message sit. No reply, nothing. Not until after the meeting. There’ll be time to talk later, once I have something solid to show for my efforts.

The mainland comes into view, and a sense of finality settles over me. I’ve made my choice. Today is about making a stand, proving that I can navigate this world on my terms.

Just as I settle back into my thoughts, my phone buzzes again. Bets’ name flashes across the screen. I flinch, almost answering out of habit—it’s Bets, after all.

But what if she wants to meet up this morning? What would I even say?

I let it ring out, guilt pricking at me as the call fades. A message follows right after.

I've got some free time today and was wondering if you're free. I need adult time. Lunch today?

I lean back a little, her words hitting harder than they should.

Part of me wants to say yes. To let her in. To pretend everything’s already in motion, like I’ve got the next big thing lined up.

But this moment is too raw, too uncertain. I need to keep it close. Quiet.

So I don’t respond until I gather my thoughts.

Instead, I measure my breath, letting the steady hum of the road settle my nerves. Today isn’t about explaining myself, not to Parker, or to Bets.

It’s about showing up for myself. Proving I can make something real happen without leaning on someone else’s last name or checkbook.

I reach into the passenger seat, where I’ve carefully arranged my samples. The bottles gleam in the morning light, each one a small testament to my work, my vision, my dedication.

I think about the countless hours I spent researching ingredients, testing formulas, and designing packaging that would stand out on any store shelf. I imagine those bottles one day being a household name, part of the self-care routines of people all over.

If Evelyn Thatcher sees what I see, this could be the break I’ve been chasing. If not, then I’ll find another way. I’m a hustler and a solver, I always have been.

As I merge onto the final stretch of highway, I take one last, steadying breath. I can do this. I have to.