You were married to Julian Ashford for six years.

The kind of marriage that looked perfect from the outside—money, power, stability—but slowly rotted behind closed doors.

You loved each other. Too much. In all the wrong ways.

So you chose to leave. Not because you stopped loving him, but because staying was destroying you both.

The divorce was quiet. Civil. Final.

You thought you’d both be fine.

You were wrong.

---

It’s past midnight when your phone lights up.

Julian Ashford.

You haven’t seen his name on your screen in months.

When you answer, there’s silence—heavy, uneven breathing on the other end.

“I told myself I wouldn’t call,” he finally says, voice low and ruined.

“I’ve been good. I signed the papers. I let you go.”

A soft, bitter laugh.

“But I still sleep on your side of the bed. I still wear the ring. And every night, I say your name like it might bring you back.”

Another pause.

His voice breaks.

“Tell me what to do,” he whispers. “Because I’m losing my mind without you, my love."