The car stops in front of the restaurant with a screech, and I take one last look at my watch before getting out of the car, my shoes loud against the freshly wet road.

I give the name of the reservation to the receptionist, and confidently make my way through the halls. I know what this is about. I know you probably will have threats and tears lined up to show me. And I also know that none of it will work.

I slide open the door to our reserved cabin, a look of cynicism and calculation in my eyes.

What an inappropriate meeting.