“Wait.” I touch my hair. “I look awful. Should I freshen up?”
“No!” they say in unison, waving me out the door.
And for the first time since I left Hess’s house hours ago, hope surges inside me.
The forty-five-minute commuteto Queen Creek took me fifty-eight minutes due to a traffic accident. By the time I pull up to our house and run inside, he’s gone.
“Hess?” I call, even though his truck isn’t here.
Harvey comes running, paws planting firmly on my hips. “Hey, buddy!” I rub his head. “I’m sorry I left you earlier. I was stupid and scared, but I’m back.” My fingers shift to behind his ears and down to his neck, and that’s when I see the small card tied to his collar. I gasp, seeing Hess’s handwriting.
If you’re reading this, I’m at our place. Love you.
“Harvey, I gotta go!”
He barks after me as I get in my car and drive off.
Looks like I have another forty-five-minute car ride to figure out what I want to say.
Hess
I’m sittingin our booth at the Waffle House, the divorce papers spread out in front of me like a placemat. I don’t care if a drop of syrup lands on them. I have no use for them, and neither does Camila.
The waitress saunters over, big smile, hip cocked to the side. She sets down a plate of waffles and leans a little too close. “Rough day?” she asks, her voice syrupy.
I force a polite smile, but dealing with her advances is the last thing I want to be doing right now. “It’s not my favorite day, but I think, in the end, it will be okay.”
She gives methe look.“I’m real good at cheering people up.”
“Thanks, but I already have someone to cheer me up.”
“Are you sure?” She places a soft hand on my shoulder.
Before she can push it further, a voice from behind her cuts through the air.
“Get your hands offmy husband.”
My head snaps up.
Camila.
She looks like she’s been through it—baggy faded shirt, ratty sweats, mascara stains under her eyes—but she’s here. And her being here says it all.
A woman like Camila wouldn’t come back unless she was sure.
I knew it would take some time, and I honestly thought maybe a little prodding from me, but she figured it out all on her own. She came to me.
She stares at the waitress until the overzealous woman scurries off.
Camila walks toward me then drops into the booth across from me, her eyes red, her expression panicked.
“Don’t sign those papers.”
I keep my face neutral, not wanting to give away that I know why she’s here. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to get a divorce.”
“What changed?” My voice is steady, but my pulse is hammering.
