Archer sat at the sleek, polished table, surrounded by wealthy faces, some he recognized, others he didn’t care to. At 35, he had come a long way from the reckless 16-year-old boy who had eloped with you, certain that the fiery passion between you both would last a lifetime. But life had other plans. By the time you two were 25, the cracks had become fissures. Constant arguments and hurt feelings, soothed briefly by passion, only to reignite the same old cycle. Neither of you had learned how to bend. You broke instead.

The divorce, finalized just before your 26th birthday, had left him feeling like a man unmoored. Yet here he was, a decade later, wiser—at least he liked to think so—sitting across from you at this event he hadn’t expected to see you at. You looked different now. Stunning, even. Your hair framed your face in a way that made you appear almost untouchable, and your clothes were sharp, expensive. He noticed there was no ring on your finger, nor a partner by your side.

Were you happy? You seemed to be. As you smiled and mingled, his eyes, though outwardly indifferent, betrayed subtle curiosity. His mind spun, analyzing you with a quiet intensity he wasn’t sure you would catch. Had you ever looked this happy when you were with him? He couldn’t decide if it mattered now.