So why do I feel like I'm waiting for an explosion?
"Same time next week?" my client asks, toweling off.
"Sounds good."
He heads for the locker room, and I start wiping down the bench. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and nausea rises at the thought of it being from Mila.
JADE: Katrina's forcing me to get a pedicure. Send help.
I smile despite everything. These small moments—her texting me, reaching out, wanting me to be part of her day again—they mean more than I can say.
DEVON: Suffer beautifully. I love you.
Three dots appear. Then:
JADE: Love you too. Be safe.
Be safe. We say it constantly now, like a prayer.
I pocket my phone and grab my clipboard to check my next client's schedule. That's when I hear it.
The front desk erupts.
"Ma'am, you can't be in here?—"
"I have every right to be here! Where is he? Where's Devon?"
Oh no.
Iknowthat voice. I've been hearing it in my nightmares for weeks.
I round the corner to the lobby, and there she is.
Mila stands in the middle of the reception area, her hair wild, her eyes wilder. She's wearing the same oversized sweater from the coffee shop, now wrinkled like she's been sleeping in it. Her face is blotchy, tear-streaked, and she's swaying slightly—like she’s unsteady on her feet.
"Devon!" She spots me and her whole body lurches forward. "Devon, you have to listen to me?—"
The receptionist, Craig, steps between us. "Ma'am, I've already called security. You need to leave."
"I'm not leaving until he talks to me!" Mila's voice cracks.
People are staring. Clients pause mid-rep, trainers freeze with their clipboards, and the cardio machines slow as everyone turns to watch the scene unfold.
I inhale deeply. At least she’s here and not following Jade.
I’ll fucking take it.
"Mila,” I keep my voice calm, even though my heart is hammering against my ribs. "You can't be here. There's a restraining order?—"
"Fuck your restraining order!" She laughs manically. "You think a piece of paper changes what we had?"
"Nothing happened." I stay behind Craig, grateful for the barrier. "We've been through this."
"Liar." She steps closer, and Craig puts out his arm to stop her. "You're a liar, Devon. Youfuckedme, and now you're pretending it never happened because your fat wife can't handle the truth?—"
"Don't." The word comes out sharp, dangerous. "Don't you dare talk about her."
Mila's face twists. "Why? Because she's so perfect? She's not perfect, Devon. She's pathetic. She always was. She just can’t handle the truth—she never could.”
