He pressed his lips together and carefully asked, “Did you give him the divorce papers already?”
I nodded once. “Yeah. The day after the concert.”
He exhaled like a grown man. “He texted me yesterday. Said he might come by today,” Liam added, almost like an afterthought. “But I told him not to.”
I blinked. “You did?”
Liam shrugged. “And I don’t want to see him…yet.”
“Me too.”
Liam held my hand and said, “Don't worry, Mom. I will never hurt you like what he did. I will protect you…always.”
My chest tightened at the sincerity of his voice. I had to bite the tears back to my throat.
Around noon, I took my time at the grocery store. Touched things I didn’t need. Read labels I already knew by heart. Maybe it was the illusion of control—choosing brands, checking expiry dates, when everything else in my life had rotted quietly behind my back. I was halfway through the produce aisle when I heard a familiar voice.
“Arianne?”
I turned. It was Celeste Santiago, our neighbor three blocks away—the one who throws brunches with pastel cupcakes and has a husband who only wears golf shirts. Her eyes were wide with concern. But behind it, curiosity burned like a poorly hidden candle.