Page 25 of Pretend You Love Me

I laugh, sudden enough that Daniel looks over, his expression changing to mild surprise.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, reaching for the remote to pause the movie.

I show him the screen, Liv’s message still visible: “reminder that if you decide to fake your death, I already have several aesthetic location ideas.”

He laughs too, a genuine sound that makes something in my chest twist and for approximately four seconds, we are just two people laughing at the same thing on a couch.

The moment passes. Daniel reaches for the remote, the movie resumes, and we settle back into our careful non-touching, the distance we’ve established could be measured in fractions of an inch. Twenty minutes later, during a particularly loud explosion sequence, Daniel pauses the film again.

“I’m just going to check on the twins,” he says, already standing. “That noise seems too loud with their room right above us.”

He’s being thoughtful. Considerate. The type of husband who notices when the television might disturb sleeping babies. Before the text, I would have found it endearing. Now I just nod and turn back to the television I’m not watching.

The occasional creak of the floorboards is the only souls I hear as Daniel moves through the upstairs hallway. My phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up with Harper’s name. Not in the group chat. A private message, just to me.

“You don’t need to reply,” it reads. “Just making sure you know I am here.”

A few simple words, delivered without expectation or demand.

I read it twice, then put my phone face-down on my thigh and stare at the television without seeing it. My brain keeps replaying the moment Daniel laughed, the sound so familiar it felt like a ghost in the room. For four seconds, we were just us again.

The baby monitor glows on the coffee table, a small blue light in the dim room. Through its tiny speaker, I can hear the soft, even sounds of the twins breathing. They’re fine. They’re safe. Their mother has been sitting on a couch three feet from their father, listening to the static between heartbeats and trying not to think about the fact that soon, this will all be different.

Daniel returns ten minutes later, settling back into his position with easy confidence. “They’re fine,” he says, reaching for the remote. “Sound asleep. Didn’t even stir when I opened the door.”

“Good,” I say, the word automatic. “Thanks for checking.”

He nods, already focused on the screen, and hits play. The movie resumes, explosions, dramatic music, women and we sit in silence as two people sharing space without actually being in it together.

My phone sits face-down on my thigh, Harper’s message still glowing on the screen beneath it. You don’t need to reply. Just making sure know I am here.

I am surviving. Just barely.

***

The car park behind Page & Grounds is dark. Behind me, the twins make the soft settling noises of almost-asleep babies. My phone sits in my lap, Clara’s number glowing on the screen. I’ve been staring at it for eight minutes. Each call makes this more real, turning the abstract possibility of divorce into something concrete and unavoidable.

I press call before I can change my mind.

She answers on the third ring, her voice carrying the quality of someone who’s delivered difficult information so many times it no longer requires softening. “Elsie,” she says. “Good timing. I was just reviewing your file.”

“Hey,” I say, my voice steadier than I expected. “Sorry to call so late.”

“Not at all,” she says, and I can hear the soft click of a keyboard in the background. “I’m still at the office. How are you holding up?”

It’s such a normal question that for a moment, I don’t know how to answer. Then I shrug, even though she can’t see it. “I’m okay,” I say. “I’m getting there.”

“That’s good, it is a bit of a journey,” she says, her voice soothing and calm. “And you’re handling it well. The documentation is progressing nicely, I think we are almost ready to move forward.”

Relief settles in. “That’s good,” I say. “I’ve been trying to keep going, but it’s hard. I didn’t want to mess up anything.”

“You haven’t,” Clara says with quiet certainty. “The notes on his attendance to medical appointments, childcare arrangement and financials will be useful for custody.”

“I can only imagine how hard this has been,” Clara continues, her voice measured. “Patience protects your position. The longer you can maintain the status quo while gathering evidence, the stronger your case becomes. I know it’s difficult. But we are almost at the finish line. The forensic accountant is still going over your joint accounts and when that’s done we can move.”

It has been hard. Three months of careful documentation, of not letting Daniel know that everything is different.

“I can hold out until we are set,” I say, the words coming out more firmly than I expected. “Whatever it takes.”