I didn't share. Not ever. If anything happened between us tonight, then from this point on, I had to be the only woman in his heart.
Patrick clung to me, stealing kisses between sloppy, mumbled agreements.
As time went on, I started pressing him. When are we going public?
To prove I was serious, I tore up the divorce agreement right in front of him and made a vow: As long as you don't leave, I won't either.
Looking back now, that unreadable flicker in his eyes must have been pity. Or mockery. He'd been laughing at me for reading too much into us.
I gagged as I canceled the couples' trip to the Maldives—flights, hotel, all of it.
The first year, we had no feelings for each other, so there was no anniversary trip.
The second year, things between us had gotten visibly better. With his quiet approval, I'd planned every detail of the vacation. Researched restaurants, mapped out itineraries, bookmarked sunset spots.
But a phone call came right before boarding. Patrick left and never came back.