Cinderella Chose the Wrong Prince

Cinderella Chose the Wrong Prince Charming

Yet another February Sucks tale

I had the idea for this after reading several February Sucks stories (including George Anderson's). Then Spotify plays me songs by the British band Pulp - specifically Babies and Common People. "I want to live like common people..."

Linda is a young, influenceable nurse. She loves Jim/Thomas, but she is pathologically jealous, and afraid to travel. I had to rename Jim as Thomas, and you will see why. Sorry. If you think that Jim/Thomas is too unlikely: he is inspired by real people I have met.

Feb 28 th, 2025 was a Friday.

I do not use AI for creative writing because it is fun! I usually write sci-fi; this is my first time here. Constructive criticism appreciated. English is my second language, no matter how much editing and revising, there will be some funny words in there. Apologies.

June 2025

-0-

«   Les difficultés ne forgent pas l'âme. Elles la révèlent... Uuste comme le sculpteur fait naître l'œuvre d'un bloc de pierre...   » (Unatributed)

February 2025 had been a long, cold and dark month for Linda. Three mighty serial blizzards (January 31st, February 6th and February 13th) practically ensured that, for the first half of the month, the only viable modes of transportation in and around the city were cross-country skis and snowmobiles. But who had those? Valentine was toast. Or rather, frozen.

Thomas missed those blizzards; he had been out of the country on business. He knew Linda hated his trips. Since the end of the covid emergency, he had to travel once quarterly to Northern Europe and South America to take care of family business from before Linda. That was new to Linda (they married shortly before covid). Each time, he invited her to take time off work and come with him. He would happily show her what the family's business was (nothing illegal, immoral or unethical), and she could have fun while he worked. She politely declined. Fear of flying, Patrick (not Patrice!) was too young, she was too busy at work, the travel itinerary was too crazy... A different excuse each time. Then he offered to explain to her what his business was, so that she understood why the trips had to happen. She didn't want to know. There never was time, and it was too complicated.

To appease her jealousy, he called her all the time, he shared his location over WhatsApp, sent photos. But she and her friend Dee were both sure there was something fishy. She had no actual proof of anything, but nevertheless. She didn't want his excuses; she wanted him home. Her stubbornness drove him nuts.

He'd been back from his trip a day before Valentine's, his flight was one of the last to land before the blizzard shut the airport for nearly two days. But their Valentine's dinner consisted of frozen lasagna and broccoli. Linda then had a nice idea: why not have a make-up date? A late Valentine's plus a late anniversary celebration for Friday February 28th (they had been unable to celebrate their anniversary that year as well, Patrice had been sick.) A great dinner, then some club time, then a nice hotel room for the night. Patrice would spend the night at Mrs. Porter's.

They swore their vows five years before. January 1st, 2020, in Miami Beach, in a very private event. Fifty guests in an upscale hotel rooftop, paid by Thomas. The wedding happened exactly one year after Thomas moved into the US, and 362 days after they met. Love at first sight. Linda loved Thomas' funny ways, his exotic habits, his mysterious background. He looked very Scandinavian, but then there was some Britishness in him, but also something South American in his ways. Crazy combination. They met by chance at an Ikea. He was furnishing the house he'd just bought; she was decorating the tiny apartment she'd rented with Dee. She took it upon herself to introduce him to the way things worked in the US. A few weeks passed and a different type of introduction was going on. Repeatedly.

She found funny that he couldn't see her from fifteen feet away without his glasses. First, he was waiting for his myopia to stabilize to do Lasik, he said. Then, covid hit, and later, there never was time to go and do it. She quickly grew to love his solid stability, his quietude, the way he brought peace to her constant fuzz. His maturity.

He was her rock.

She was amazed that he bought her a brand new Rav4 when her old car broke down. Not a lease, not a finance. He just bought it. In her entire life, her hard-working parents could never afford a new car. It was in his name, sure, but he just gave her the keys, and she never had to worry about insurance or annual check-ups. It was no BMW, but whatever. It's not that he bought her love with a car. He won her over with his attention, care, and... devoted love. Dee, her lifelong friend, had mixed feelings. Especially when she felt her friend, whom she was used to influencing and manipulating, moved out to live with Thomas, even before the wedding.

Their first and only child, Patrice, came eleven months after their wedding. He had just turned four. Thomas, aged 33 when they married (He was now 38), was very thankful to Linda, and loved her even more that she agreed to be a mother right away, shortly out of nursing college. He wanted to be a dad asap; he was getting old and did not want to be a 'grandpa-dad' like some people he'd seen. She was concerned with the workload of raising a child at the same time she was starting a career. He told her not to worry; he would take the grunt.

Thus, Linda, 22 when they married (now 27) worked as a registered nurse in a local walk-in clinic. Crazy hours that would be impossible without Thomas, but at least it was mostly day-time hours - the clinic ran 7am-9pm. She was objectively happy with her life. Husband, paid house and car, beautiful son, a good job. Sometimes, however, she day-dreamt... What young woman never dreamt of being Cinderella for a night? It's human nature.

She also began to want. For example: After five years, she was still driving the same Rav4. It was a reliable car, but her friends now drove BMWs. Sometimes, when she rode with Dee, she had a tiny bit of envy. Dee exploited that. What Linda didn't know however was that those cars were the cheapest entry-level models, were heavily financed, that her friends could barely afford them. In fact, they lived hand to mouth, forever swapping credit card debt to maintain their lifestyles and appearances. Linda didn't know what that was. Living hand to mouth. Thomas and Linda kept separate finances, but he always helped her out a bit.

Thomas worked mostly from home. He knew how to design and code mobile games. He had made one from scratch and sold it to GameCorp, before. GameCorp had been so impressed with his negotiating skills that they invited him over to the US to identify good games, befriend the founders, and convince them to sell and partner with GameCorp. He was low key. Didn't speak loudly. He was economical in his use of superlatives. 'Awesome' was seldom heard from him. When he said 'good', he meant it. If something was just ok, or not ok, one would know it, too. The same qualities that captivated Linda also captivated his bosses and allowed him to develop trusting relationships with the founders of small mobile game startups, usually other introverts like him. His refined humor, liked by founders, became an acquired taste for Linda, but was missed entirely by her friends. He was a highly functional introvert.

He'd been doing game prospecting from the half-finished basement of his modest townhome since 2019. He visited the corporate offices for a few hours each week and occasionally had to take a business trip to visit a founder. The rest of the time he had to play with, take care of, and educate his kid.

He made decent money, say, in the $200k range, but it paled in comparison to before. Linda had no idea. She never asked, and Thomas was ok with that. He just wanted to live like common people. Common people had common problems, and he'd had his lifetime quota of entitled, snob rich people's problems.

They lived in a townhome that he bought for cash via video conference before arrived in the US. It was smaller and humbler than he could afford, but he didn't need anything bigger. Two Toyota Rav4s purchased cash a few months apart. A beautiful and honest-to-earth hard-working wife (that sometimes had to be brought back to orbit from wherever she tended to drift off to). Said wife also came with stupid friends attached, but nothing in life was perfect. A standup paddleboard and a good bike for the summer. Skis for winter. Hiking boots. Nothing else. No cluttered garage, no basement full of stuff. One laptop, on large monitor, no big TV (he was not into team sports - neither American, nor European. Too big of a time sink). He was good for now.

He wished Linda would overcome that fear of flying she had developed during Covid. Then he could gradually introduce her to the outside world, to his world from before. He wouls pull her away from those good-for-nothing bottom feeders that she thought were her friends, quit GameCorp (he loved them, but that cycle was quickly coming to an end), and go do something else. A reforestation NGO in South America, maybe? He was slowly working on Linda. He'd get there. Soon.

A week before their date night, Linda told him their friends Dee and Jane would join them for dinner and at the club with their husbands Dave and Phil.

... The fuck.

"Tom, babe, I am sorry. I may have mentioned our date to them, and they just decided they had to come along. But we will have our entire night just for us after."

"Whatever." He was angry but as usual, he hid it.

Three days before their night out he got called to a trip to Chicago. A deal he was slowly cooking suddenly became urgent. And it was the deal. Ghost Strike. The game of the decade. Revenue potential au pair with Angry Birds and Candy Crush. With the commission he'd earn, there would be no way she could refuse to travel with him, and they would finally, finally...

He explained the trip to Linda (minus the name of the game and the financial upside, he was bound by an NDA) and that he'd be back on the 28th early afternoon with plenty of time to pick her up. It would be ok. She was livid. He promised her it would probably be his last business trip. She didn't believe him. He begged her to understand. Later in the evening, he overheard her talking to Dee on the phone in the bathroom. It was muffled, but she thought his wife was crying.

In bed, he said: "Linda, my job is to buy gaming companies. I am going to Chicago to buy one. I thought it would take months, but the owners suddenly decided they want out quickly. That's it. Fly in, negotiate, spend the night running numbers, negotiate some more, sign, handle everything over to the lawyers, and out. It will be good for us too, I promise. I will tell you afterwards. During dinner. Please, cross your pretty fingers for me."

She smiled and they made love.

He left the next morning and slept a total of eight hours over the following two and a half days until he shook hands on a completed deal at noon, February 28th. He wanted nothing but to rush to the airport. But the seller wanted to go to a nearby rooftop and drink themselves to oblivion. Thomas couldn't possibly say no. He changed his flight and texted Linda. Sorry, he'd meet her at the restaurant.

Angry emoji back.

He got to the airport, only to find that the rebooked flight had been canceled. He'd been pushed one back, and downgraded to coach, middle seat. It didn't matter. He'd make in time for the club, not the dinner. Now he was happy her friends were there, at least she'd not dine alone.

He texted again, apologized. She called back while he was going through security; he couldn't pick up. He heard her voice message full of expletives. He decided not to call back and just text before departure. He was now angry too. She was being inconsiderate. If only she took the time to understand the nature of his job, she'd know these things happened.

His flight finally took off thirty minutes late, landed forty-five minutes late. They would have been at the club already. He'd skip the hotel altogether and go straight there, suitcase and everything. He called her, no answer. Her friends didn't pick up either.

He got a text from Jeff. Jeff Skinner, Esquire, was an American British lawyer, a friend of his, better than a brother, whom he knew since they were both eighteen, in their first year at university in England. They were roommates throughout university and graduate school. Jeff stayed in England until a divorce just a few months prior. He decided to come back to his country of birth, and, not knowing where to, he came to the same town of his older 'brother' to restart his legal career there.

Thomas, I am at the Morrisson's, wanted to check the place. Your wife is here with friends.

Yes, I know.

Why are you not here?

On my way, traffic. 35 minutes.

Thomas, you should be here now.

Thomas had a sudden chill in his spine. He tried to call Jeff, but the noise and loud music made it impossible to have a voice conversation. Back to frantic texting.

Thomas, I got here 15 minutes ago. Linda and some football player flirting. Touched her hand, back. Now at bar. Drinks, talking close. Touching her. She touched his arm. Not good, Thomas.

He forwarded a couple pictures that made Thomas' stomach curl.

Please tell her to stop. Tell her I will be there soon.

Excruciating wait.

Thomas, I did. She said this was on you. Your fault. You shouldn't have gone to Chicago to screw some woman. Last straw, she said. I told her she had no idea, that she'd be hurting you. Impossible that you were cheating. I begged her, it would destroy you. Told she didn't know what she was doing. You were coming. Thomas, did you cheat?

Never. You know me. She is sickly jealous, and her friends feed her shit. Are they around?

Yes.

Ask them to stop her.

More wait.

I am sorry, Thomas. They just laughed. Said it is nothing. Just one night, let her have fun, you to be proud Marc LaVallariere chose her. She deserves it. She's young. And the skinny one said you are too good not to forgive her tomorrow. What BS!

What the fuck!

Jeff, the skinny one is Dee. She's the worse.

Jeff, please just video everything. Traffic cleared, I am ten minutes out.

Thomas looked at the pictures and videos as they came. What did they show? An alpha male, classic attractive white American, super muscular as expected of a football player. No one he couldn't turn into a meat pie in two or three minutes.

Dudes like this Marc had the agility of a gorilla. They fought by throwing their weight at you. Thomas used the force of gravity instead. The bigger they are.... If he didn't surrender his wife back, this Marc LaFoutriere would never walk again.

He flipped through the pictures again and analyzed Linda's face. There was... Lust. Desire. Pride. Fascination. Desire? Shit. She was melting into the ape's arms. He had to get there quick to save his marriage. If there was anything to be saved. Was she drugged? Maybe. That would be her only valid excuse.

Thomas walked into the club and darted to their table, but before he got there, he saw Linda, blue dress and strawberry-blond hair, walking out, hand in hand with the six-foot ape to the back door. She looked back just then and, as chance goes, locked eyes with her husband. He was shocked. Her eyes conveyed a mixture of lust, excitement and defiance at Thomas. I am taking my revenge at you.

Or maybe he was seeing things.

"I am sorry, mate." That was Jeff, walking behind him. "We can give chase if you want. My car is out back."

"What for? She made her bed, let her sleep in it." But then he heard Dee say something to their friends.

"Lucky girl! She will get the fuck of her night!"

His blood boiled instantly. He closed the gap to the table. "What did you say, bitch?"

Dave, her husband: "Hey, no need for names, Tom. It's just a night. Let her have fun."

"First of all, it's Thomas. Not Tom, not Tommy. And fuck you. This was to be my night with her. You were not even invited here."

"But Tom... Thomas, It's Marc LaValliere... Guy is a hero!"

"If this Marc LaFuckiere is so good, why didn't you offer your wife to him?"

"Hey, my wife is not a sl..."

"Are you sure? I could say the same about mine until ten minutes ago. "

"Tom, Linda loves you, she's not a whore."

"No, she's not. Whores are hard workers who do it for a living. She's a cunt. And so are you, Dee."

"Hey, I am her friend, and you don't get to..."

"Friend? You are her friend? Let me tell you something, friend! Friends watch one another's backs. Friends steer friends away from trouble. Friends stop them from drinking too much. Friends wish them the best in life, and cheer when they succeed. Friends don't pull them back down. Friends don't feed their paranoia. Friends don't create conspiracy theories about their husbands traveling to fuck other women, especially if they know that there are pathologically jealous. Friends don't push their married friends into having sex with random blokes."

"YOU did that, Thomas, not I! You pushed her."

"You are delusional, Dee! In your tiny, tiny shit-filled shrimp brain, you think I travel to fuck. Because that's probably what you would do if you could. Lady, each time I travel, I hardly sleep. I work to make more money than the four of you combined will in three lifetimes. Not because I am great, but because you are useless sewer rats. You just don't know about me because unlike Mr. Marc JeFoutreLeCiel over there, I choose not to live the high life. And because you are all wankers, you just brought your lady friend back down to your level, by causing her DIVORCE!"

The group gasped.

Dave put his arm on Thomas' shoulder. "Tom, aren't you overre-"

He never got to finish his sentence. Next thing he knew, Thomas had him bent and pinned against the table, one arm pulled across the back, shoulder almost popping out of the socket, and neck chocked.

"One more word and I break your neck. Do you understand? I do not consider your brain capable of formulating any wisdom worthy of my attention."

Dave, baffled and in pain, just nodded. The bouncers were slowly coming their way, but Thomas had released him and had his hand up. They backed off a couple of steps but didn't go away. The entire club was watching the entente.

"Yes, Dee, divorce. You can tell it to your slutty friend when you meet her."

"You should all be ashamed. The only one here who tried to stop her was Jeff, who doesn't even know her. You so called 'friends', jealous bottom feeders, scum of the earth, good for nothing, just pushed her into it. If I EVER see you again, I WILL break your necks, there will be no warnings."

"Jeff, can you come tomorrow morning by the house? I know it's Saturday, but I want to serve her Monday morning." He turned to the exit.

"Thomas, Linda's coat and purse!" That was Jane.

"Oh right, she forgot! How insensitive of me!" He grabbed the purse, opened it and carefully spilled the contents onto the table. Linda's mobile was inside. "I really married a brainless cunt." He pocketed her car keys, then pulled his wedding ring, added it to the pile on the table and left.

Five minutes later, he was on the hotel parking lot, storing his roller bag on the RAV4 when his wife's four friends showed up behind him.

"Thomas?" That was Jane's voice.

He turned around and swiftly punched both Dave and Phil on the stomach (twice each), then the ribs, enough to break one each, then noses and eyes. He had his right fist up and pointed at Dee, and it took all his mental strength not to punch her as well. When he finally let his arm fall by his side, the woman had peed herself.

Their husbands were curled into tiny balls on the floor.

"I had warned you."

Dee and Jane were kneeling by their husbands, crying.

"You bastard, we just came to say we were sorry. Now they will be hurt for weeks." That was Dee.

"Good. I will be hurt for years. Goodbye."

"We will sue you. You will have to pay for this."

"Go ahead. Money well spent."

"Thomas please. Here, at least take Linda's purse and coat. We never meant for-" Jane, tears in her eyes.

"Ok. I know what to do with her stuff." He took them, looked around, found a dumpster (the hotel was undergoing renovations) and tossed everything in. "I could wish you good night, but that is not what I truly want you to have."

He climbed to the car and drove away.

-0-

Thomas was running on fumes. Other than a short nap on the plane, he had been mostly awake since early Thursday. But he wasn't ready for bed yet. He decided to pick Patrice up right away. He'd play safe. Right now, Patrice was the only good thing he had left in the world, and he'd burn through everything he had before he gave the boy away.

He rang the bell at Mrs. Porter at 11pm. The old widow was startled, and not only by his early appearance. "Is something wrong? Where's your wife?"

Thomas considered for a split second what to tell her. Fuck it. "She decided to leave me at the club to have a night of glorious fucking with a local football player." The woman's jaw dropped.

"Linda? Our Linda? You can't be serious!"

"Do I look like I am joking? Look." He pulled his phone and showed her some of the videos and photos Jeff had sent him.

"My god, what a tramp. How could she do that to a good man like you?"

"I suppose I didn't know my wife as well as I thought I did."

"What will you do?"

"Move on. She doesn't know me as well as she thinks she does, too."

"You won't do anything you will regret, son?"

"No, I am not violent. But I think she and her friends mistake my quiet ways for passiveness. They will find out they are mistaken." He smirked. "Can I have my son?"

He nested his sleeping son in the back seat, e-transferred a full night fee plus a nice tip to the widow, let her hug him, wished her farewell, and went home. He thought about calling a 24/7 locksmith to change the locks, but Linda didn't have her keys, phone, nothing. There was no rush. He tucked his boy in, and slept. He wished he could sleep forever.

Dee and then Linda

Dee had had her reasons to manipulate her husband and friends into joining Linda and Thomas in their night out. She had heard that Marc LaValliere went to the Morrisson's on Fridays to pick women (preferably married women right from their husbands' noses) for a night or an entire weekend of blissful fucking (ahhm - lovemaking). She wanted nothing more than be fucked by Marc, but she couldn't convince Dave to go out, unless... Unless they had a major event, a celebration. And that was it. Linda had given Dee the perfect excuse.

She'd been babbling about Marc throughout dinner, up until, as per her hopes, he walks in, walks to the bar, orders a drink, looks around, and comes to their table. To her disappointment, he chooses Linda.

Linda was going to say no, until she looked at his eyes. She hesitates. Thomas was late; she was mad at him. It served him well for not being right here where he should be. And for all those suspicious trips he'd been doing all the time. If those were business. She still wasn't sure. Then she looked at Dee, and sees what? Jealously? Envy? Lust?

Fuck Thomas. She took Marc's hand and went back with him to the bar. They drank, flirted, they did some dancing, back to the bar, drank some more (not too much, Linda was past the age of getting wasted). She was excited. At first, she had accepted Marc's invite to get even with Thomas. She had hoped Thomas would walk in, see it, get angry, and mend his ways. But Thomas was late, and Marc was hot. Her flirting was growing into something else. She wanted this man. It was pure lust.

That annoying friend of Thomas' came by. The one that had just recently moved into town. They had some history together, a long time ago. Like that entitled him to act as Thomas' guardian angel. What was his name. Josh? No, Jeff. Jeff asked her to not do it. Begged her. Told her it would destroy Thomas. What did he know? She knew her husband, and this guy had just shown up. How much could he possibly know Tom? They'd been together five years. Of course, Tom would forgive her. He'd sulk a bit, then she'd make it up to him and live as usual. She told Jeff to piss off and disappear.

Once on Marc's Lamborghini, she didn't waste any time. She opened his pants and went down on him. The man came on her face, her hands, her hair, her dress (shit! She'd have to wash it before she used it for Thomas). By the time the blowjob was done, they were nearly at his place.

Marc had an amazing, gigantic house. Decoration a bit over the top. There were big lions spitting water at the entrance, around a large round fountain. The living room was all marble floors and walls, with a gigantic golden framed mirror, and zebra-styled leather sofas. A human sized vase right in the middle of it with fake flowers. In other times, she'd have loved it all, but she'd been learning a thing or two about tasteful design from Tom. This was... What was that? Nouveau Rich? Something like that. Impressive, but a bit too much. At any rate, she did not get to enjoy the mansion. Marc dragged her to the bedroom right away, stripped her hurriedly and forcedly and got down to business. He wasn't too polite, nor too carrying. She was wet but not too wet. It hurt a bit. No, a lot. Eventually it was good, but not that good. He came; she didn't.

Second time it was better; she managed to come. Then he took her doggy style, and it started great, but Marc had a big mirror against a wall, and she saw herself in it, and what she saw didn't please her. She was not having a night of blissful lovemaking. She was having a moment of brutal sexual coupling. With a stranger, who didn't care for her. Who just took. Unlike Thomas, who gave, lovingly. Her eyes welled up. She asked the strange man to stop, he didn't. She was being held tightly, there was nothing she could do. She just bore the grunt, sniffing, and thinking of Thomas and Patrice.

What the fuck was I thinking?

Mercifully, the man finished quickly. He stood up and headed for the shower, leaving her alone in the bedroom. She looked for her purse, she'd call an Uber, call Thomas, Dee, anyone. Go to the hotel or home. Get out of that place. No purse. Stupid.

She desperately needed to pee, but the stranger was in the bathroom. There was a powder room downstairs, she ran there. Relief. It burned. She was sore. No wonder. She cried for five minutes, then recomposed herself and went back up. She'd have to ask him for his phone.

Marc was sleeping. She tried to wake him up. Once, twice. No luck. How the heck could this idiot be so inconsiderate? She cried again. She found his phone. iPhone. FaceID. It did not work with eyes closed. She tried to wake him up again. Shit! She roamed the house. No landline. Of course. Who had these nowadays? She thought of going to a neighbor, but it was dark, cold. She felt tired. She just put her dress on and slept on the couch. She'd have to wait until morning and beg Thomas for forgiveness.

Thomas

Thomas heard bangs in his dreams. The bangs morphed into shots in the FPS game he was playing and winning. Most weird game in which he shot naked football players. Then he tossed, turned, and the dream changed. He was surfing at his beach in Brazil - Itamambuca, the surfers' beach. Surfing and flirting with girls.

A few minutes later, his phone rang and there was no way of morphing that into any dream. He glanced at the phone, a number he didn't recognized. He hit the red button. 7:13am. He turned back to sleep. The phone rang again. He picked it up.

"Tom?" She almost whispered.

He recognized the voice immediately. He was still sleep deprived, couldn't quite remember where he was, and needed a few seconds to come back to the dark and cold reality (literary. The room was dark and rather cold; the furnace had been acting up).

"Tom?" She whispered?

He remembered the events of the previous night and his mind followed in body into darkness and coldness.

"Tom? Are you there?"

"FOR THE FUCKING LAST TIME IN YOUR MISERABLE FUTILE AND USELESS LIFE, MY NAME IS THOMAS, NOT TOM. AND WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT, YOU DERANGED CHEATING CUNT?"

He had never shouted at her, he never called her anything but 'my love', 'honey', or 'Cherrie' before. To her remorse, she now added fear. "Thomas, I am sorry. I came to the door, but I forgot my purse, my phone, my keys. I knocked but you didn't hear. I borrowed someone's phone; they are walking a dog. It's cold. Can you please open the door?"

"No. Freeze to death."

He could hear her crying. That gave him and idea. "In fifteen minutes. And don't knock, I don't you to wake up Patrice."

"Thomas, I am freez-" He ended the call.

He got dressed and worked feverishly. He collected and lined up a few things just inside the front door. He was waiting when she walked up the steps, in her night dress and heels, and nothing else. There was snow in the ground, and she had to be freezing. Her problem. He made her wait as he watched her through the window. Disheveled hair, no bra, hickeys on her neck, breast and upper arm, and dried cum on her face, hair and dress. The woman hadn't had the decency of showering or cleaning up! Tramp.

He grabbed his camera. Not the phone camera, but his semi-professional Nikon, that he barely used anymore. He set it on repeat shutter, adjusted shutter speed, ISO and f for his purposes. Max resolution (he wanted to document the stains, hickeys, everything). He opened the door an snapped several photos of her. He locked the door again, inspected the photos, and was satisfied that everything was clearly visible. He put the camera away and opened the door again.

Linda was annoyed. "What was that for?"

"Evidence for the divorce procedures. These, plus the videos and photos from the club and the driveway security camera feed are more than enough to file for adultery. I get custody."

Her eyes popped up "What videos? Divorce? Custody? Tom, pl-

"It's Thomas, you brainless woman. Show me your hand."

She started raising her right hand.

"Your other hand, cunt."

"Please stop calling me cunt, pl-"

"Nope. Sorry. Calling you a whore would be an offense to the hard-working women who sell sex for a living. YOUR LEFT HAND."

She did. She was crying and shaking. Remorse, fear, cold? Thomas didn't care. There was dried cum on her fingers and wedding ring. He grabbed a paper towel, soaked in in alcohol gel, and used it to pull her ring out. For an instant, she thought he was going to clean it.

"You don't have to. I can do clean it."

"You didn't even think of taking off your wedding ring when you blew him, he?"

She looked down, ashamed.

"Answer me, slut."

"He didn't let me. He said it turned him on."

"I don't know who's sicker - him or you." With that, he put the ring on the concrete steps, grabber a hammer he had inside the door and smashed it. The gem was instantly crushed to bits, and the gold scratched and deformed. He picked it up, gave it a satisfied look, and tossed it to the driveway.

Linda was shocked, and sobbing. "Why did you do that? It was your grandmother's. I was going to give it to Patrick, to give to his bride. You destroyed it!"

(A parenthesis: that wedding wasn't your typical run-of-the-mill diamond ring. It was a ruby ring worth over $350k. And it had been in someone's finger in Thomas's family since a forefather of his fought with Napoleon in Austerlitz in Austria, in 1805. Linda didn't know any of that. Thomas knew, but he didn't care.)

"No Linda, you destroyed that ring. You defiled it, and all that it meant to my family when you let a jock, a brainless asshole, a trained ape spill his cum on it. Now get the fuck away from my property." He turned around and closed the door.

She banged at the door. "Thomas, please, it's my home too."

He opened the door, but with the safety chain in place. "It's not what the deed says."

"Let me see Patrick, please!"

"Woman, after last night, the bare minimum you can do is show some respect. Start by learning your husband's and your kid's name. It's Patrice, for God's sake. And no, you won't set foot in this house nor see your kid all contaminated with sperm from that human trashcan and God know what viruses you got from him. You stink of sex. Clean up and come back tomorrow. I need time to think, and I need to meet Jeff without you around."

She was scared again. "Why do you need to meet Jeff?"

"Prepare for divorce."

Her legs almost gave up on her and she had to hold on to the handrail. "Tom. Thomas. Tell me you are just angry, please." Eyes welling up. "Please don't leave me, please. Please let's talk, I messed up. I made a mistake. Please forgive me, I am sorry, I shouldn't..."

"Sorry doesn't cut it Linda. You want to talk? Then let's talk. And because your brain appears to be scrambled by the pounding you took last night, let me do it for you. It was to be our night of celebration, ours. But you add your scumbag friends to it. Then you dumped me, ridiculed me in public, in front of your friends, in front of everyone... On Valentine's Day. On our anniversary celebration. On the night we were going to celebrate the contract that was going to change our life forever. You threw it all up forever, why? Because my client asked me to go for a beer? They sold their company to us, Linda. They want to celebrate it, I say yes. Then the flight is late because there's snow, what can I do? File a complaint with the weather service?"

"You have always allowed this jealously of yours to run unchecked. How many times have I suggested you sought help? I put up with your fits of jealously. Most of the time I found them cute. Sometimes annoying. Last night... No more. You let this mentally unhinged sex-addicted Lalaland zombie Dee feed you her garbage beliefs about how men think and behave, then you build I don't know what shitty logic of entitlement in your head, and you go and do shit. Yes, I was late. No, I wasn't screwing anyone. I never did. And it was not for lack of opportunity, Linda."

"The contract, Linda. Do you know what our cut was going to be, Linda? Not GameCorp's. Ours? For you, and me, and Patrice. $5million. Tax-free, because the company is incorporated in Dubai. I was going to split it three-ways. That's the surprise I wanted to tell you last night. I bet even your new boyfriend isn't yet making that much. Do you still think you did the right trade? Dumping me for an ape? Did he fuck you well, at least? Was he everything you deserved?"

Linda couldn't avoid a look of surprise. But she was mostly ashamed and remorseful. "He is not my boyfriend, honey. And it was awful. He hurt me. He's nothing like you-"

"You don't get to honey me. Not ever again. And if it was awful as you say - and I have no reason to believe anything you say - it serves you well." He was getting angrier. "But let's say just for an instant that I believe you. Let it be a lesson. What did you expect? A fairytale night of love with your prince charming?" He scoffed. "That's the thing, you stupid braindead white trash slut. Fairy tales exit only in fairyland."

White trash was too much. Her family was anything but that. He took a deep breath.

"Calling you white trash was a disrespect to your hard-working and loving parents. But you certainly behaved like that yesterday. The apple fell too far from the tree it seems; it was not the tree's fault. Now go away. Come back tomorrow. Maybe I will listen to your excuses then. Go to your parents or go to Dee. You are a cunt, she's a cunt. Go do cunty things together. Goodbye."

He shut the door again, she knocked again.

"WHAT?"

"I don't have my phone."

"Right. Should I call Dee or your parents?"

"Dee, please."

"I am calling your parents."

"No, please. I am too ashamed."

"Just like I was, leaving the club as a cuck." He was dialing, on loudspeaker. She was wailing.

"Thomas, is something wrong?" His father-in-law, a tremendously nice guy, unionized electrician, and owner of an outsized emotional intelligence. Devotedly religious. He never called him Tom, and even if both where very reserved individuals, both respected and liked one another very much.

"Dad! Yes, unfortunately. And it's not good. Your daughter cheated on me last night. I got to town late because of the weather. By the time I got to the club where we were meeting, she had been drinking, flirting and dirty dancing with a football player. I walked in in time to see your daughter step out through the back door with the guy. She just came back. I have her here at the door. In her hurry to go out and fornicate, she lost her purse, wallet, ID, phone." (he was not going to tell he could have brought it all back with him). "She has no bra, hickeys all over her body, her face and hair are covered in dried sperm, and she lost her wedding ring. Her dress is stained. I am not letting her inside my house to see my son like that. I suggest you come pick her up before she freezes."

Silence.

"Dad, are you there?"

"Thomas, are you joking?"

"Do I sound like I am joking? Would you like to see the photos and videos? Maybe I should send them anyways."

"No son, that won't be necessary. I can be there in twenty minutes. Son, it's twenty degrees outside. Please let her inside."

"What? Show her the mercy she didn't show me last night? I wish I were as good a Christian as you are. I am sorry dad. But I will make sure she doesn't freeze." What that, he disconnected.

Linda was sitting on the steps, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably.

"What the fuck went through your chickenshit brain last night, woman? Here." He grabbed the last few items he had lined up behind the door: a pair of thick socks, her winter boots and coats, a pair of jeans, and a bag of clothes he packed in a hurry. "Dress up and get the heck away from me. See you tomorrow. Or never."

"Thom-" But the door was shut, and Linda was sobbing.

Thomas leaned against the door and took a deep breath. He could hear the woman crying outside. He peeked through the side window. She had dressed up and was seated on the top step, still shaking. Oh crap.

Two minutes later the door opened. Linda looked up hopeful, but Thomas silently and angrily handed her a banana and a thermos with coffee and shut the door again.

Twenty-two minutes later, Thomas watched as a wobbling Linda walked to her father's truck, and they drove away. He then walked to his kitchen, turned on his Miele coffeemaker and pressed a full cappuccino. That coffee machine was his one indulgence from before. It was given to him by a member of the Miele family. A limited edition not available to the public. His morning coffee ritual didn't bring him any solace that Saturday morning. He stared at a framed picture of their wedding and yielded to the urge of throwing it out the window. It gave him no satisfaction. Burning her wedding dress in the gas fireplace (while filming everything and texting it to Linda, Dee and her parents) didn't appease his anger either.

Dee texted a crying emoji, an apology and a begged him to forgive Linda. He texted her she could eat shit and go fuck the entire NFL league for all he cared. In a second text he added "+ NBA & NHL". She texted that they would not press charges if he forgave Linda. He didn't respond. That was just plain ridiculous.

Thomas looked up. Light snow had started falling again. He remembered his vivid dream of surfing and knew exactly what he had to do. He retrieved his laptop, his and his kid's passports, and logged on to Expedia. He bought two round trip business class tickets to São Paulo, Brazil for that same night, connecting through Newark. He'd have to leave the house by 7pm, be at the airport by 7:30, depart to Newark by 8:30. Land at 9:30. Depart to São Paulo by 11:30pm, arrival next morning 9am local time. Sunday. Then 3 hours by taxi (or maybe he'd rent a car). In a bit over thirty hours they'd be at the beach; he'd be teaching Patrice to surf.

7pm. Plenty of time to talk to talk to Jeff, sign and notarize any Power of Attorneys he might need, pack and get to the airport. He had no intention of using the return tickets, but a father and a son buying last minute one-way tickets to a South American country... That's the type of stuff that raises suspicions.

He paid for the tickets with his other credit card, the one linked to the BVI numbered trust account that existed since well before he became a loyal customer of the IRS, the one that the IRS couldn't touch, because it wasn't officially his. He smiled.

He had truly enjoyed his time in the US, and loved working with Americans. They were direct, straight forward, objective and pragmatic people, and had an almost hopeless optimism. Sooo different from the Europeans with whom he did business before. He'd miss that. But... By leaving the US he'd divorce the IRS as well as Linda, and he could unwind that ridiculously expensive trust structure. Good riddance x2: Linda and IRS. No, not really. He did love Linda, and it would hurt to leave her. No. She had left him.

Patrice woke up a bit later.

"Dad, where's mommy?"

"Mommy is out with a friend. Patrice, we will travel tonight, to Brazil, to see the country where daddy grew up. Only the two of us. Mommy will come to meet us later, ok?" He hated to lie to his son, but there was no chance in hell he'd leave the boy behind to be raised by a cheating single-mother nurse. Nothing against nurses, much the opposite, but Linda worked crazy hours and would inevitably have no time nor resources to educate the child. Not when he could provide the boy with the finest education berth and money could provide.

"Ok. Can I watch Trash Truck?"

"Sure buddy. You can do it all day long today, ok? Just let me fix you some breakfast."

With that, Thomas got busy packing, until Jeff showed up at 11am. He brought his assistant Emily in tow, to serve as witness and notary, just in case. Jeff was not a family law practitioner, but he understood the basics, and of course, he had a copy of the prenup that he had helped GameCorp's legal counsel prepare for Thomas, years before.

"Thomas, this prenup is clear: if she gives you cause for divorce, the house is yours, because it was yours before the marriage. You have no mortgage on it. You bought both cars, they are yours too. She gets custody, you must pay child support and alimony, because you earn more. But she has no claims on your assets. Neither the local assets nor the trust. You always had your financial assets separated, and she has no claims beyond what she's bought into the marriage."

"She is always short of money. She doesn't earn much, she pays student debt - it's not too much, but she does. And she doesn't handle money well. She's got a bit of a 401(k), and maybe $1000 in the bank. I must transfer some money over to her every month, and she uses my credit cards. I never minded. Nurses only make big bucks if they work in hospitals. Not in day clinics."

"Right. Anyways..."

"Emily, can you give us some privacy?" They waited until the woman stepped out.

"Jeff, I am flying to Brazil with Patrice tonight."

"No!"

"Yes. You know that country will never handle a minor citizen to a foreign parent living abroad. And I love that boy. I spend more time caring for him than she does. I have the resources to raise him. She is the cheater. I don't care what the law says. I will burn through all my money if I have to. But you know I won't have to."

"Right. But have you thought this through?"

"Yes. Please prepare separation papers or whatever it is called for me to sign today. Today. I will leave it for you to give it to her. And a Power of Attorney for you to hire a lawyer to handle our divorce, and you be my representative. Just don't file the divorce before my green light. Don't tell her where I am. I will take cancel her credit cards today."

"What about the house?"

"There is a locksmith arriving any minute. Jeff, I want this house given away to charity - any charity - before 10am Monday. Can you do that? It has to happen before she can organize herself to get an injunction or whatever it is called. I only ask two things in return: that they put a security person at the door, and that she's only allowed to get her personal things out. Not the furniture."

"Wow. This house is worth what? $400k?"

"Won't make a dent."

"I know, Thomas. Just saying. You could give it to her..."

"Why are you defending her? You were there; you saw it. Let her fuck buddy give her a house."

"I am not defending her. Sorry. Yes, I was there. And it was terrible. I am glad you weren't, or else you'd be in jail now."

Thomas chuckled.

"There's this charity that helps women that are victim of domestic violence, they give them safe heavens. Emily knows their directors. She can probably talk to them today, and I will line up a title company for Monday morning. No mortgage, no cashier checks to clear, no liens. Easy. Even if they can't use this house, then can sell it and use the money to buy another somewhere else."

"Linda will come here tomorrow morning. She will go frantic that there's no one home. Let her freak out for a bit, then text her to come see you Monday in your office, ok? Not tomorrow. Monday, please. Jeff, she broke me for ever. She can freak out for a day. It's a fair deal."

"It's her son, Thomas. You are separating a mother and her son. So no, I don't think it's fair. In fact, I think it's rather cold-hearted. But you are suffering, and I saw what she did to you. I am your friend first and foremost, ever since Oxford. I will do whatever you ask me, short of going to jail."

For the first time since it all started, Thomas shed a tear. "Since Oxford." The implication of those words stayed unsaid.

"You spoke to her, not me. Was she drunk, or drugged? Because that I could accept. Reluctantly."

"No."

"Then what was she thinking?"

"Thomas, I don't know. And do you really want to go there?"

Thomas sighed. "No, not really. Jeff, you know me, I am uncapable of being that guy. The cold bastard, but right now I must. I did everything for this woman. I put up with her sick jealousy. Her fear of flying, her unwillingness to travel. Her lack of curiosity about my past. Her vain, ignorant and narrowminded friends. Heck, even her poor taste in furniture. He waved around. "And this is how she pays me back? Fuck the cunt."

"Thomas... I didn't think you even knew that type of vocabulary in you, your g-!" Jeff's tone of voice came across as teasing.

"Ah! Fuck you, too, Dr Skinner...! An American Football jock!" He was doing his best Oxford accent. "If she'd had the gracious taste of going after a Formula 1 pilot, or an ATP player... I could maybe, just maybe consider forgiving her..."

"No, you wouldn't."

"No, I wouldn't."

"And quit pretending to be a snob. There's nothing wrong with football. Either one, before you ask 'which football?' "

"Are my jokes getting that predictable?"

"Yes. And I know you don't care for either."

They stood up and hugged. Jeff kissed his cheek; Thomas held him tighter.

Jeff and Emily used Thomas' office in the basement to prepare and print the required papers. They ordered pizza for lunch and carried on. At 2pm he had to stop packing to do a conference call with the head of the charity he was donating the house to. The woman was baffled and a bit suspicious, but they convinced her, and in the end, she was very thankful.

At the end of the day, Thomas had packed a total of eight big suitcases (he had run to a nearby Target to buy a few). Two with his stuff, four with Patrice's clothes and toys, and two with various things he didn't want to leave behind - first and foremost, his coffeemaker. He'd have to pay a hefty excess luggage fee. He didn't care.

They sat down to sign and notarized everything and said their goodbyes. Jeff and Emily had come by Uber; they each left in one of Thomas' cars. They'd sell them and keep the proceeds as retainer. Jeff took the new house keys with him when he went.

Thomas looked around the living room and his favorite place in the house: the kitchen. He was sad to go. It was a simple house, with an amazing kitchen, where he had spent a great time with a woman he loved. He couldn't avoid crying. He closed the door behind him and left for good.

Linda

Linda rode back to her parents' house in silence. What was there to say? She'd sob from time to time, and her father didn't know how, or didn't want to, console her. Nearing the house, he just asked, "Is it true?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know, dad, I don't know." She burst in tears. "He is right, I am a stupid cunt."

"You are not a c... You are not that. You are my daughter. But you messed up, big time. Just pray that you can patch things up. There's no man better than that, and you humiliated him. No man can bear that. I will leave you to talk things through with your mother." He dropped his daughter, claiming he had a job to complete. In truth, he didn't want to be around. He sent a message to Thomas apologizing on behalf of his family. He was smart enough to not offer to talk, nor ask or wish for forgiveness. Thomas would or would not do any of that if and when he felt ready.

Her mother fed Linda and then had her youngest daughter tell her story. It wasn't easy for Linda. The mother tried not to pass any judgement, but she wasn't happy. Not at Linda's behavior, not at Dee's and Jane's role, or their respective husbands, and certainly not at Linda's inability to see Dee for what she really was.

"But ma, Dee is my friend! And she was sure he was cheating on me."

"Linda! A friend looks out for you, protects you, helps you come to your senses! If she were truly your friend, she would see how good a husband Thomas is, how intelligent, hardworking, ambitious and set for success he is. Thomas cheating on you? Ridiculous! If Dee were your friend, and not an envious jealous bitch..." (Linda had never seen her mom swear) "... she'd see how much he only has eyes for you; how much he loves and cares for you. That man exists to serve and pamper you, you silly vain woman."

"If Dee were your friend, she would encourage you to nurture and love and care for him, not to go out and betray you. But no, she is selfish, narrow-minded; she envies you because with her shallowness of mind and heart, she could never snatch a men like yours; so, she feeds your fears with her bullshit. She wants to bring you down to her level. And you buy it. She is not your friend, Linda. How many times have I told you that? Your dad? Thomas? Just think about it."

Linda just sobbed.

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know, ma. He told me to come back tomorrow. He didn't want Patrick - Patrice - to see me like this."

"And he was right. You look like a tramp."

"Please ma. I feel like shit already."

There was no swearing in the house, but her mother swore first, so they were even. "You are going to take a shower, change clothes. Throw this dress in the dumpster-"

Linda looked up. "Do I have to? I thought I could use it with Th-"

"Yes, you do. I don't want to see it ever again, and I bet your husband won't, either. Are you on birth control?"

Linda's eyes popped wide open.

"I will take that as a no. God, you really weren't thinking, child! You know our stance on life and abortion. But the last thing you need right now is an unwanted child from a strange man. We will go a pharmacy buy some Plan B right away, and it stays between us two, do you understand? Not a peep to anyone, least of all your father."

Linda just nodded, as she whipped her eyes.

"And then we will go to a health clinic to get you screened for HIV for whatever else."

Linda covered her mouth.

"Ma! Do you think?"

"Linda! A football player picked a random woman at a club to have unprotected sex. You can't afford not to think. You will get tested. As many times as you have to."

"Shit!"

"That's the last time you get to swear in this house."

"Sorry ma."

"Where's your wedding ring?"

"Thomas took it." She didn't have the heart to tell what really happened.

"That's not good, not good. You just pray he will cool down by tomorrow."

Linda and her mother came back from the clinic after 4pm. She took a late lunch and early dinner, two-in-one and retired to her teenage bedroom. The clinic doctor had prescribed her a daily dose of clonazepam for a month to calm her down and help her sleep, and she took one pill. Nevertheless, she cried. And cried. Her older sister came by and saw her as she crossed the hallway to the bathroom. Coming down the stairs, Carol asked her mother what was going on and got a cold reply: "it's something between her and her husband, you stay out of it."

Carol immediately texted Thomas. She always found him too posh, too good guy. He finally messed up.

Thomas

Thomas, a Brazilian-born citizen of Belgian and Swedish parents, did not want any trouble at check-in, so he showed all their documents at the airliner counter: his Brazilian, Belgian and Swedish passports, his US green card, and his son's American, Brazilian and Belgian passports. When asked, he explained he was taking his son to see family in Brazil, and the American mother would be joining them a few days later.

(Note: it is a common misconception that triple citizenships are illegal. They are not. They are only illegal in case one of the countries explicitly prohibits them)

He checked his WhatsApp at Newark's business class lounge while waiting for the long flight to Brazil. An angry message from Carol, Linda's older sister. Carol had seen Linda crying at the parent's home, and been given no explanation, assumed what any protective older sister would: that the husband had messed up. She had texted other people in her circle of friends and family - some of whom overlapped with Thomas' and Linda's, and he got either accusatory or inquisitive messages from them too - including a neighbor, a Canadian with whom they were usually very friendly.

That flared up Thomas' anger again. He would not go down as the bad one. No, no, no.

He booted up his computer again, composed a one-page memo explaining his version of the events. He wrote it very politely, factually and in a neutral tone, but he did not polish his language. He explained exactly WHAT motivated him to go public with his version: Carol's speculative gossiping. It had to end immediately, before his reputation was damaged. He then added the photos Jeff had sent him of the lovebirds - at the bar, on the dance floor, kissing, groping. And of Linda's sorrow state the morning after. He included cropped zooms of her hickeys, dress stains and dried sperm on her hair. Finally, he uploaded time-stamped videos of her dancing, leaving the club and her arriving at home to OneDrive, created view-only links, and added those links to the doc.

One page of text plus photos became more than ten pages total. He saved everything as PDF and sent it via WhatsApp and email to everyone he could think of: Linda's sister, parents and relatives, her church group (that included their pastor); her boss and colleagues, her friends Dee & Co; their neighborhood chat group. Jeff Skinner. He posted some of the photos and a link to the PDF to Marc LaValliere's Facebook and Instagram Accounts, as well as Linda's. He thought a bit more and sent it to the local newspaper as well. Why not?

To Carol, he just added: I didn't want to smear your sister, but you forced my hand. Hope you are happy. See you around... never. He never liked her sister. Too self-righteous. Now he felt vindicated, imagining the shit storm coming Linda's way the next morning.

There were a few more loose ends. He wrote an email to his boss, tending his resignation, effective immediately. As explanation, he kindly asked the boss to refer to the same PDF he'd shared with everyone else. He forfeited his commission on the deal, as he would not be around to see it through the end. He also emailed his accountant requesting him to start procedures to terminate his US status for both tax and residency purposes, effective March 1st, 2025. He was done, and he felt relieved. A chapter of his life was coming to a close. Not the way he'd wished, but nevertheless. He shut his laptop, grabbed his son by the hand, and headed to the gate for boarding.

He slept well in the business class lie-flat seats. He woke up briefly in the middle of the night due to turbulence, remembered the scorched Earth emails and texts he'd sent, and regretted them. That was beneath him. His parents, may they rest in peace, had not raised him like that. His mother, the snob she'd always been, would have said that he got what he deserved from marrying beneath him. It was hugely unfair, of course. Linda's parents were honest-to-earth people, much better than certain people in his mother's circles. Until two days before, so was Linda. Or so he thought. It no longer mattered.

The next days would be crazy. He'd have to find someone to clean up the house, hire a nanny for Patrice, find a kindergarten, buy a car, get insurance. He wondered if his dad's 1980 Land Rover Defender was still around. He'd call his friend, maybe he could buy it back from him, and put some money in to restore it. Something to look forward to! Luckily, he never let his local driver license expire, and he had his local bank account still. That reminded him, he hadn't canceled the joint credit cards with Linda. Lots to do, he wasn't out of the woods yet. Sleep, Thomas. Sleep and save your energy.

Linda, Sunday, 10am

Linda and her mother arrived at her - Thomas' - house and knocked at the door. There was no answer, no movement and all lights were out. Linda tried the garage door code, but it didn't work. She had a mild panic but pushed it down.

She tried to sound upbeat. "Maybe they went somewhere for breakfast?"

Her mother feared the worse, but didn't show. "Let's have a coffee somewhere and come back later."

At the coffeeshop, Linda had an idea. "Ma, can I call Dee?"

Her mother was suspicious. "What for?" They had both agreed earlier that Linda would sever ties with her old school friends.

"It's not what you are thinking. Maybe she has my purse with my keys. And my phone."

"I will call her." She pulled out her phone. The coffeeshop was empty, so she put the call on loudspeaker, telling Linda to keep quiet.

"Mrs. Brown, I am so so-"

"Shove it, Dee. What a good friend you are, pushing Linda to cheat on her husband. Do you have her purse?"

"Yes. We tried to give it to Thomas Friday, but he thr- he didn't want it, so we kept it."

"And it didn't occur to you to bring it to us yesterday?"

"Thomas was so upset that he punched Dave and Phil. We thought it best to give him and Linda some space. Then we saw his text this morning, and..."

"What text?" Linda couldn't stay quiet.

"Hi Linda. I am sorry, really. Let me forward it to your mo-"

But her mother had already ended the call and was busy checking her messages for the first time that morning. She had to scroll through dozens of dozens until she found the original, from Thomas. She handed the phone to her daughter and watched as her face changed colors, and her facial expression went from panic to utter despair. The PDF text ended with "Have a nice life, Linda."

The phone rang. Her mother took it and picked it up. It was Carol, apologizing for triggering the chain reaction. For the second time in her life, Linda heard her mother swear. "You self-righteous bitch. I told you to stay out of it. It was a problem between them. Your dumb shit sister hurt that good man beyond repair, and you had to rub it in. Now the whole city knows it, and I am forced to pick sides between your sister and Thomas, who is otherwise a good man. Thank you very much. It's best if you don't come around the house." She disconnected.

"He left me, ma."

"It looks like it."

"And he took Patrice."

"Yes."

Mrs. Brown called Dee again, ordering her to meet them at the house. "We need that purse and those keys, NOW. And Dee, after that, Linda won't need to see you again, ever."

But the keys didn't work, and that only sucked the last shreds of hope away from Linda. To make matters worse, the neighbors, who had all got Thomas' text, got out to look what was going on. Someone shouted 'slut'. Then someone else. And a third person. They got to their car and left.

"Jeff. He was there. And he's Thomas' friend. He knows." She now had her phone, but it was nearly dead. She had just enough juice to pull up his number and call him from her mom's. Not recognizing the number, Jeff picked up.

"Hello?"

"Jeff, thank God. It's Linda."

"Ahh, hi, Linda." Jeff sounded passive aggressive.

"Do you know where he is?"

Silence.

"Jeff, please. I feel bad enough. I messed up. I can't get into my home, I don't know where my son is... I need to apologize to Thomas. Please!"

"I warned you."

"I know. I should have listened to you."

"All I can say is they are safe. Their plane landed just now."

"Plane? What? Jeff, where did they go?"

"Look, I already told you more than he instructed me to. You are to come to my office tomorrow at 11am. Not before because there is something, a... transaction I need to take care. Then we will talk."

"Jeff, did you get his text?"

"Yes."

"Why did he have to burn me like that?"

"I don't know. He was very, very resentful yesterday. He had worked hard all week long, he was looking forward for something new with you, and you pulled that stunt. Linda... A betrayal is hard on a man. A public betrayal then? On a celebration day? It's like you destroyed his trust in mankind, woman. What were you thinking? You brought this upon yourself. I've known Thomas since freshman year, only once I have seen him as upset. He's been using words I never thought someone of his lineage was allowed to use."

"Lin...- Never mind. Why can't you tell me everything now? Please!"

"It wouldn't make any difference, but I will respect his wishes. He is my client and my friend for life. I will never betray him."

Linda - Monday

"What? He gave the house away! Who does something like that?"

"Thomas. A hurt Thomas, to be more precise. There's a lot about him that you don't know, Linda. For example, that ring he hammered..."

"He hammered your ring?"

"Yes, ma." Linda was ashamed.

"Girl, what have you done?"

"That ring was a family heirloom of seven generations." That was Jeff.

"He told me it was his grandma's."

"Not a lie, right? But also, her mother's. And her mother's mother... and so on. He never told you the ring's history?"

"No. Could you?" Despite everything, she was suddenly curious.

"Not my story to tell. Thomas is low key, Linda. Too low key, if you ask me. Do you know where he - we - went to university?"

She desperately tried to look around the man's office. Jeff snorted at her pathetic efforts. "You won't find my diploma anywhere on these walls, Mrs. Brown-Mazière. I'm a bit like Thomas myself. Low key."

She gave up. "No. He only said it was in England."

"And his PhD?"

"He had a PhD?" She was surprised.

"You are married to him for five years and you don't know that he had a PhD?"

Shit.

"You lived with him for five years. You told me you knew him better than I did. What is it that you know about him, child?" Jeff was bordering on unprofessionalism, but he had to rub it in. The clueless self-centered immature woman had to suffer a bit. What was Thomas thinking, marrying someone so young?

"He went to university in England; his parents died in an accident. He never got to say goodbye to them. His dad is from Belgium, his mother from Sweden, he grew up in Brazil. No, he was born in Brazil. He studied computer science..." (Jeff sneered at that point), "... then he went back to Brazil, he's really smart because GameCorp recruited him and he's here because in the US he makes more money."

"What's his full name?"

"Thomas Mazière. Please! I know that!!"

"Right. That's what shows in Green Card. First and last name, because our government computers are not flexible enough to accommodate other people's ways of naming their children... Look, there are more holes in that life story you just told me than in a Swiss cheese. It's unbelievable that you never got more out of him... He resented you for that, you know. Your lack of curiosity about him."

"But he always wanted to talk about me, and do things for me, and then when Patrick came..."

"He also resented that... Patrick. I believe your son's name is Patrice, no?"

"Until today I didn't know he didn't like the way I called him-them. Why didn't he tell me those things?"

"Thomas is a reserved man. It's in his upbringing. I just told you that. But he probably gave you hints, thought, didn't he? You didn't notice?"

Linda paused to think. Did he? He did, but she never paid attention. The way he looked at her, saddened. Often. When she talked about Dee or Jane, and he disliked them. Or when she'd call the boy Patrick, and he'd immediately find a reason to call him Patrice over her voice. Or when they had sex and he did everything, she was just there on the receiving end. Then he'd turn around, his back to her. She'd be angry at him for not cuddling her. It never occurred to her that he was the one with right to be angry. Gosh, could she have been that selfish?

"And his discretion: I think your friends misinterpreted that for gullibility."

Spot on, she thought. Dee had said he'd forgive her, just how he always did.

"You probably misinterpreted his introspection for strength. Thomas is not strong. Thomas is fragile, and not for the reasons you think, and none of that male ego bullshit your friend spilled onto me Friday night. You hurt him. Seriously."

"Who is he, Mr. Skinner? Please tell me."

"It's Dr. Skinner, and I won't tell you anything you didn't have the curiosity or the insight to ask him over five! Freaking! Years! Thomas' life story is his to tell. But I can tell you a bit of my story, because you really offended me on Friday night. What did Thomas tell you about me?"

"That you are good friends, that you divorced your British wife and come back to the US, and that I should get to know you because you are a good guy."

Jeff smiled, fondly. "He probably said spouse, not wife, right? I divorced my husband." Lisa and her mother were surprised.

"But you don't look..."

"I am a gay man, Linda. Anyways, after the divorce I needed to get away from... him. My family never accepted my ways. So, when I came back, I came here, to be with Thomas. I settled in just in time to see you push him away." Jeff almost lost his voice.

"But Thomas is not...!"

"Oh no he's as straight as they come. I only wished!" (Linda's mother was very uncomfortable).

"But he's the brother I never had... In freshmen year, I lived in a poor area of town. The only place I could afford. I was baited. A boy lured me; three others ganged up to beat me. Thomas saw it. He beat them to pulp, we ran away, laughing. The police never found us. I became his flat mate. By then, the entire campus knew I was a homosexual. Do you think Thomas cared? No. Never charged me rent, either. He knew I didn't have much money. No rent was the difference between a miserable life and having a bit of fun. I lived with Thomas and his... friends throughout uni and grad school. Until... Through the ups and downs. And you claimed to know him better. You never asked a thing."

Linda was drying her eyes. At his accusations, and at his story.

"That's my Thomas," she managed to say. "Putting others ahead of himself. Jeff, I am so sorry. Of what I did to him, and of what I told you."

"Know this: I will always stay by him. You betrayed him, you betrayed me."

Her mother interjected. "I understand your point of view, Dr. Skinner. But how could our Thomas take on three of four boys?"

That question caught Linda's attention.

"He can fight. I don't think he would take on three to one, but he had a squash racket, and he came from behind. At the club on Friday, I was to try and hold you there until he arrived."

"Oh my God, Mark would have..."

"... broken knees, ribs, damaged kidneys, and God knows what else; Thomas would be in jail, and we would still be having the same conversation. So, in a way, it's good you left when you did."

Linda covered her mouth with her hands. "Can he really fight?"

"Yes." Jeff didn't elaborate.

"Well, moving on, this is a Separation Agreement. It would be best if you signed it right away, but feel free to take it to a lawyer. At any rate, there is little to be argued as it is based on documented adultery, and your financial assets are split as per the prenup."

Linda was sobbing.

"Now, separation is not yet divorce. I have also been tasked with hiring a divorce lawyer to draft and serve you with divorce papers."

Linda was now wailing. It took her some time to recompose.

"Jeff, I don't want to divorce him. I want to apologize to him. I messed up. I was a complete fool. Can't you tell it to him? Maybe you can arrange for me to meet him, before we see the judge?"

"Linda, he's left the US for good. He left me a Power of Attorney to handle this divorce in his behalf."

"But, but... What about mandatory counselling sessions, and those things? I know judges order them."

"I don't think he cares. He will just pay whatever fines they impose."

Linda was getting angry. "But it is mandatory! And I will get custody!"

"Linda, he's in Brazil."

"So what? I still get custody."

"Your son is a Brazilian citizen. A Brazilian minor cannot leave that country without both parents signed and notarized consent. It's their law. Thomas told it to me on Saturday, and I double checked. They check each minor's passport upon departure."

"I will get a court order."

"From a US court? It is worth nothing there. As an American in Brazil, against the Brazilian father of a Brazilian citizen? You will get nowhere." He saw the desolation in her face and softened. "I am sorry, Linda."

But she was weeping. "I will never see my son again! How can he be so cold? He was supposed to be a good guy." Her mother pulled her tight.

"Linda, I am his lawyer and his friend. He's not cold blooded. He's the nicest guy I have ever met. He must be hurting beyond anything imaginable. There are things that happened to him... I told you what you did would destroy him. Right now, he's unhinged. The Thomas I know would never use the words he did against you. It's beneath him. You pissed him off royally." He smiled.

"Why are you smiling?"

"At my choice of words. Never mind. Apologies."

"Do you want to recover your son, or do you want to recover Thomas?"

"BOTH! I need them both! That stupid night with that stupid man proved it. Argh how I hate myself! I need Thomas." She was sobbing again. "Oh God, please." Her mother let her cry, and Jeff thought the scene he just saw was amongst the three saddest he's ever witnessed, right alongside his own breakup, and the unspeakable thing in Oxford. He took a deep breath and extended his hand across the table.

"Jeff the attorney just walked out the door. The Jeff that stayed is looking at a wife and mother who seems to be truly hurting and regretting her actions. This Jeff is Thomas' friend and knows he is miserable right now, too. This Jeff advises: hire a nice lawyer. Not a shark. Maybe someone friendly from your church. Review this separation papers, sign it, and don't do anything rash. Separations are not divorce. Don't upset him further. Convince your friend to withdraw their charges."

"What charges?"

"Thomas put your friends' husbands in the hospital Friday night. Broken ribs, noses, bruises, black eyes. Ugly. At first, they didn't tell the police who did it to them, but last night they finally pressed charges. Convince them to drop it, for the sake of your marriage. As an act of goodwill. Mrs. Brown? Maybe you could do it."

The woman was more than happy to oblige. In her view, those useless men got exactly what they deserved.

"Then you give him time, and maybe he will soften by himself. The house and the cars are gone; I am sorry. But you have your job, and I believe your parents can help you out, right?"

"Yes."

"You can go by anytime this week to collect your personal belongings from the house, but not the furniture. Just call this woman first." He handed her a card.

"Linda, it may take months. I am his attorney, I must do what he tells me to, but I can also be a pain in the neck when I want. Please have patience."

She started sobbing again. "I miss my son!"

"I can't imagine what that feels like. I am so sorry. Please have strength. You can't rush things."

"Oh, and Linda? If I hear of any funky stuff, I will serve your divorce papers myself."

Jeff and Thomas - Tuesday, by text

Jeff: Thomas, I had Linda and mother in the office. For what's worth, I think she is truly sorry.

Thomas: And???

Jeff: I just thought you should know.

Thomas: What I need to know is: did you push the separation papers?

Jeff: Yes. Waiting.

Thomas - Three Months Later

Jeff: Thomas, can you talk?

Thomas: Sorry, text only. Loud place here.

Jeff: It's Linda. She tried to kill herself.

Pause. Jeff's phone rang.

"How?"

"Thomas."

"Jeff. How?"

"Good to see you still care."

"Off course I care, Jeff. It's my son's mother. How?"

"And I hear how loud it is in the background. A couple of birds and some light breeze. Enough to burst one's eardrums. Are you at your beach house?"

"Yes! I am feeling miserable and didn't want to talk. Happy? Now please! What did she do?"

"Her mother caught her swallowing a bottle of clonazepam, but she made her spit most of them and then forced her to puke. she still swallowed enough to sleep for a day and a half, apparently."

"Why does she need clonazepam?"

"To calm her nerves and sleep, Thomas. I guess you don't know?"

"Why would I know anything? The cunt cheated and left me. I stopped following the news."

"Thomas, stop it. She's not a cunt, and you know it. She was misled; she had some personality... frailties and made one mistake. You never gave her a chance to apologize, burned her to the entire town, cut her off her son, and she's paying dearly. She's lost her job, and she misses you and Patrice. She barely leaves the house."

"Why did she lose her job?"

"Dr. Alburn is the local head of Doctors for Christ."

"Oh Christ..."

"Christ. Precisely"

"Doesn't the bible teach to be compassionate?"

"Like you were to her?"

Thomas grumped. "Screw you, Jeff. Why are you chewing my butt today?"

"Because you told me you would not be 'that type of guy'. But it's been three months, she's unemployed, living off welfare in her childhood bedroom; you won't divorce and set her free, but you won't come back to her, and she can't see her son. She doesn't socialize, doesn't have money. She cut herself off of her friends."

"Finally. It only took her marriage for her to realize they were good for nothing. As for money, she can divorce me. I won't deny alimony. Then she won't be on welfare."

"She will never divorce you, Thomas. She wants you back. Thomas, I think she's suffered enough."

"I am still suffering, Jeff, so who are you to judge?" He shouted.

"Oh, but Sir Blue Blood is suffering at his beach villa, in between sessions of surf in the morning, bikini staring at noon, videogame and chess with his kid all afternoon, sunset every evening, and sipping cocktails at night; with a maid to clean the house and another to cook. In the land of eternal summer. Meanwhile Linda is collecting unemployment insurance and unable to pay her student debt. Thomas! Be reasonable. I knew your family, and I know you, and you know you are all better than this."

"It's sunrise, not sunset, you dipshit. It's the Atlantic. And don't you bring my family into this!" He ended the call. He sighed and called right back. "Apologies. You are right."

"Thomas. I've seen her. She's a wreck. For what's worth, I think she is truly sorry. She misses you. I don't think she's like Ca-"

Thomas cut him. "Is she sorry for what she did or is she sorry for the consequences?"

"Can you really separate those? Outside of a PhD ethics course?"

"No, I guess not."

"She would like me to forward you an email of hers. I told her I'd check with you."

Thomas thought for a few seconds. It would be too painful. "No."

"Thomas, for what it's worth, she called Marc an idiot, or stupid or something. But back to my point, please show her some mercy."

He sighed.

"Alright, what can we do?"

"Are you willing to come back?"

"When hell freezes over. Besides, I can't set foot in the US until the IRS says so."

"Well, then... I have some ideas."

-0-

Patrice got an iPhone the next day, complete with and iCloud account and FaceTime. He was beyond happy. The only restriction his dad imposed was that the iPhone would always remain inside his bedroom (Thomas did not want Linda to see the house or the surroundings they were in. He also deactivated the find my phone function for the same reason). Jeff informed Linda he was able to get the boy's phone number from the house maid, as well as Thomas' personal schedule. She could FaceTime Patrice whenever Thomas was out of the house, paying attention to time zone differences. She'd have to be careful: Thomas hadn't forgiven her; he didn't want to hear of her and would be livid if he found out that she was communicating with Patrice.

Linda wondered why a four-year-old needed an iPhone. Jeff explained they were developing a video game together. She was immensely thankful to Jeff for the effort and shaking of anxiety as she called her boy for the first time. She made sure to always call him Patrice.

Linda - Ten days later

Linda had been interviewing incessantly since she lost her job. She hadn't had much luck. First, because her former boss had refused to give her a letter of recommendation, and second, because her unfortunate reputation preceded her (her former boss religious fervor had never stopped him from chasing each female receptionist and nurse the clinic ever hired. Linda never yielded, and now he took sweet revenge on her - by making sure every prospect employer knew who they were interviewing).

Linda had tried anything, even ER's night shifts. What did she have to lose? Meanwhile her parents were growing angrier and angrier at Thomas. What he did was proving to be an excessively harsh punishment for a young woman who clearly repented her actions.

Linda was angry too. At herself, for acting stupid. At her former friends, for not being truly good friends. At Thomas, for not giving her a chance, for burning her so thoroughly and for stealing her son. Yes, it had always been Thomas who spent more time with Patrice, but what could she do? She was the one who worked outside the house. And nurses had to work hard. That had been their deal. She gave him a kid years before she was ready to be a mother, he took care of him.

She was sorry, for everything. Thomas had every right to ditch her; he didn't have to burn her. And she was mad at that asshole, Marc LaValliere. He was no gentleman. He was no prince charming, and she had certainly been no Cinderella. She had been a cheap fuck, just like Thomas had said. Worse than a whore. A slut.

Nothing had happened to Marc. Linda knew Thomas had forwarded his email to the local news station and posted in Marc's social media. Marc came out of that episode unscathed. He only got positive, male-chauvinist, 'thumbs-up' responses from his male fans and teammates. Linda, however,... She had to put up with even worse stuff. "Send her to me when you are done with her." "Does she give her ass?" "Now that her cuck hubby has left her, let's take her on our tour." "Give us her phone number." That one, of course, was innocuous. Mark did not have her phone number, and she had changed it anyways.

And she missed Thomas. She kept reminiscing moments together, noticing missed opportunities to get to know him better and reciprocate his nice gestures. And daydreaming of nice things she could and would do for him if he ever gave her a chance. Breakfast in bed. Petting his hair. Stroking his chest. Holding hand, even in public. He liked it, she never let him. Hugging him randomly, just because. She loved him indeed - that was not something she'd build in her head. She did love him. But she had not been nowhere near as dedicated to him as he'd been to her. Her marriage had not been a fair exchange, even before her betrayal. She wished she could somehow tell him that, admit it to him. But she had no means of reaching him. He would not receive her email.

All that pushed her into a sort of depression - or rather a sense of despair - and the half-hearted attempt to commit suicide that her mother caught on time and had the idea of reporting to Dr Jeff Skinner, in the hopes he'd somehow relay to Thomas.

None of it helped Linda in her job-hunting prospects.

She wasn't therefore too hopeful when she was called for an interview at a suburb hospital on the other side of the big city, for a daytime position in the comatose care wing. Daytime care nursing were prime slots, and she hadn't been able to secure even an overnight ER position. Who'd give her that? She went anyways.

She was told that a grant from a foundation she never heard of had come in for new staff and equipment, and they took her in after two interviews done in the same day. And suddenly, in a bit over a week, her fortune had changed. She was chatting with her son, and she had a job in a place where people didn't know her. She had no car for the long commute, but Jeff gave her some money to buy a cheap used one.

Thank you, Jeff! She sent him a text on her first day.

Don't make me regret it.

I won't. Jeff? I miss him.

Makes two of us.

It's not the same thing.

I know 

Jeff - a week later

Jeff bumped into Mr. and Mrs. Brown on the street near his office. They were headed to a medical appointment; he was coming out of a Starbucks. He asked them how things were going with Linda and got the cliff notes debrief. They were thankful for his help in finding a way around Thomas for the video calls with their grandson, and Linda had a job. They thanked Jeff for the car loan. But the entire household was rather displeased, to say the least, at Thomas' attitude and disappearance.

Jeff considered what they said and invited them to his office after their appointment, if they could. He'd have to find a way to change their perception of his friend, without disobeying Thomas's wishes. Thomas was his client, and that entire affair could still end up in litigation. On the other hand, it's been months, the divorce petition was ready, and Thomas had just ignored him. He'd take the risk, and he just knew how.

Linda's parents walked in. He offered them coffee. He had the same coffee machine as Thomas, and the in-laws recognized it. They liked that coffee.

He put a single, one-page NDA in front of both.

"There are some things I want to tell you about your son-in-law. He is my friend since we went to Oxford together more than twelve years ago."

"Oxford?"

"Yes, Oxford. But that's the extent of what I will tell you unless you sign that. Linda is, against all odds, becoming a friend. You are too. More than that, Thomas always believed you two to be two of the most honest and hardest working and truest to heart people he'd ever met. And I believe Thomas implicitly, always."

"I see you are suffering. Linda too. I can help. But you need to understand that Thomas is first and foremost my client, and I cannot breach that contract. Thus, this piece of paper. It's a non-disclosure agreement, one with a very heavy penalty. If you sign it, you agree to not tell anyone, not your daughter, not her lawyers, no one, what I am going to tell you today. And then maybe, just maybe, we can work together to give them a chance again."

They signed, and they talked.

Linda - End of September 2025

She got off the taxi and paid it with her credit card. She ran a quick mental calculation. R$1,500 translated to US$300 for a three-hour ride, some 290km from the airport. $1 per km. Funny, they did not ask for tips. Not bad, but this was money she couldn't really afford. Using Google translate, she asked the cab driver to stop fifty feet before the house gate. The driver helped her get her bag from the trunk, thanked her for a cash tip in USD that she nevertheless gave him, and wished her good luck in broken English.

She starting pulling her big bag to the house, but not before feeling the scorching sun on her pale skin, and looking at the lush tropical surroundings, the dark green-bluish ocean in front, and the beautiful house to her right, an exquisite blend of modern tropical wood architecture and what she later learned was Portuguese colonial style, very common in the area.

The property had a lush lawn, plenty of shade, and she could see a living room with a front glass wall that opened entirely onto a covered veranda. The transition was seamless. It had plenty of glass, not much in terms of walls to hide the living room, but she was still a bit far to see the details inside. There were two cars parked on the short driveway: an old Land Rover, boxy, like the ones one sees in British movies. The steering wheel was on the 'wrong' side, for both Brazil and the US. She found it odd. That was not a British-made car, it was a British car. In Brazil.

The other car was a tiny chevy not unlike others she'd seen on the beautiful but dangerous highway coming down from the airport to the beach. That one had a big logo of a health services company stamped to the side door.

No one told Thomas she was coming. She almost gave up the idea one hundred times. On the cab, she thought of turning around and heading back to the airport. But she was here, and she missed both her boys. Yet she hesitated. She was suddenly ill in her stomach; she wanted to faint. Who would have thought that flying would be the easiest part?

She took a deep breath and walked around the cars to the main door. Here goes nothing.

She crossed a gorgeous young dark haired Brazilian woman walking out of door as she walked in. The woman was dressed as a health care professional, but they both measured themselves top to bottom, and they immediately recognized each other for what they were: rivals.

Linda closed the door behind her, saw Thomas sitting in a fancy black leather reading chair facing the other way. The chair looked old (much later Linda would learn that was an original, not a replica, Eames chair that had been imported by his father in the 1970s and it was priceless). The living room was impressive. On size was open to the veranda and the ocean, the other was one huge library wall. All finely decorated. Kitchen area at the far end. Very high ceilings, lots of breeze. Easily 15 degrees cooler than outside, but no air conditioning. All that she would take in later. Right now, she was annoyed and couldn't contain herself.

"Thomas, who is that Latino woman I just saw leaving?"

Without turning nor showing any surprise in his voice, he just answered. "Linda, I can see your sick jealously still needs some working on. First, she's not Latino, not Hispanic, not white, not native, not Martian-green. Larissa is a woman. Period. We don't label people here. Second: if anything, it's you who's the gringa. Third, and not that it is of any concern to you, she is my physiotherapist, she does house calls. Now that you are here, can you please come around and help me up?"

She was ashamed. "I am sorry. This is not how I wanted to..."

He softened a bit. "I know. I still know you. Please help me up."

She came around the chair and looked him top to bottom. Tanned. Much longer hair than she remembered. A three-day beard. Younger. Thinner, more muscular. White t-shirt, fancy surfer shorts and leather sandals. No prescription glasses. A watch that looked expensive. A Thomas she'd never seen before. He tried to convey an image of a relaxed rich beach boy, but his eyes told a different story: passive aggressiveness, and sadness.

He had his arm up the entire time. "Whenever you are done assessing me."

"Sorry." She pulled him up. She saw a cane next to him. She reached for it.

"No. She just told me to stop using it. Time to put weight on my leg again." He grimaced. "And to spare you the question you are dying to ask: Yes, she is gorgeous, yes, she is hitting on me, and yes, she will be disappointed. I am done with women. Too painful."

Shit. He's still angry.

He was slowly limping towards the kitchen area; she just followed him.

"Screw it. Pass me the cane. I will quit it tomorrow."

She did. "What happened to you?"

"Do you see that path on the other side of the house? It leads down to the beach. Three months ago. It was raining, I was coming up with my surfboard. Tired. Slipped. Keel hit my leg. A bit to the left and I'd bled to death." He showed her the scar. "Counting the days to go back to surfing."

"I am sorry."

"Not your fault."

"Where is Patrice?"

Thomas noticed she called their son properly. She still needed to work on the accent. Pahtrreece, not Patrice, but it was a start.

"Kindergarten. Back at 3:30."

"Where are your glasses?"

"Laser. But they couldn't fix it all. I still can't see too far. But I don't need in the house, and I can surf and bike."

"Good. You always wanted it."

She watched as he pressed them two large coffees and skillfully sliced a large fruit in two, removed lots and lots of black seeds from inside it, sprinkled some granola and honey, put one half on each plate with a spoon.

"I only have one hand, bring the rest." He took his mug and limped to the dining table on the veranda.

She sat down and tentatively tasted the fruit. She'd never had anything as delicious as that. She realized how hungry she was and devoured if.

"What is it?"

"Papaya. Never had it?"

"I missed your coffee."

"Same machine. I brought it in the luggage. How did you get here so early? The flight from Newark doesn't land before 9am. It's 9:15."

"I flew from Miami. My dad drove me there."

"Right. That flight gets in early. And I see you mastered your fear of flying."

"That's why we drove to Miami. If I panicked in flight, I least I'd here. I had to come."

"Did you? Panic?"

"No. I focused on why I was doing it."

"How did you find us?"

"It was a hard search."

"Jeff."

"Yes."

"You could have told me you were coming. I'd have picked you up. I would have paid your airfare. I'm pretty sure you are short on money; the taxi is expensive." Would he really have paid her airfare? He said it, but he wasn't too sure.

"I was afraid you'd run away again. If you knew."

"Linda, look around. I am right where I want to be, where I always wanted to be. I am not going anywhere."

"But I had no way of knowing that. Or of contacting you."

"Pfff. You could have asked Jeff. And you talk to Patrice every day."

"Do you know that?"

"Of course. Who do you think set it up?"

"What? Jeff told me..."

"Because I was still mad at you. But I couldn't stop you from talking to him. I was being cruel. Sorry. And yes, we are designing a game together."

"Was mad? That means you are not anymore?"

"I don't know what I am. Mad sometimes. There are moments when I think of you, and I feel like breaking something. But most of the time I am just like you see me now. Linda, I resent you. Sorry, but I do. When I think that I could have been her five years earlier if we hadn't married. Five years you kept me away from here, for what? Nothing."

"Don't say nothing, Thomas, please. It wasn't nothing."

"What was it, then?"

"Thomas, I love you. And we have Patrice. Please. You love Patrice. Patrice is not nothing."

Disgruntled silence.

"You look good, Thomas."

"Only outside."

"Yes, I can tell." She tried to touch his hand, but he withdrew. She apologized.

"You don't look good, Linda, no offense."

"I know."

Silence.

"Is that my mom's ring on your finger?"

"Yes. I went back to retrieve it from your driveway."

"But it's bent and scratched. And the ruby is gone. Can I see it?" He instinctively tried to pull her hand. She pulled it back and covered it with her right hand.

"NO! it's mine now. You threw it away. Finders' keepers."

"Sorry, I am not going to... Please?"

"Thomas, promise to give it back, please. I, I need this." She handed it to him, reluctantly.

He inspected it. She had used tweezers to unbend it enough to fit her finger, and superglue to put together the few bits of the ruby she must have retrieved. But there were gold wires sticking out. "It's dangerous. You can get tetanus from this."

"I won't. Give it back."

"I can have it fixed."

"NO!" She jumped up and grabbed his hand. He was surprised. "This is mine. I like it like this. It serves to remember me of the biggest mistake of my life, the night when I destroyed everything I loved. You have no right." She was sobbing, and he apologized and handed her a napkin. She was embarrassed for her outburst. He stood up to very slowly fetch her a glass of water and give her space.

She had finished wiping her tears by the time he was back. Embarrassed, both looked down at the ocean.

"Thomas, how do you afford rent?"

"No rent."

"Mortgage then?"

"No mortgage."

"Whom does this belong then? Are you a caretaker, or something?"

Thomas snorted. "This is Patrice's. I bought the land and built the house in his name to avoid estate taxes. Remember my business trips to Brazil the year he was born? First year of Covid? Pain in the neck to travel, testing before each flight? When Dee insisted with you that I was having an affair here?" She could feel the accusation in his voice.

"I was building this."

"I used to come here with my friends from high school to surf. The owners ran this plot of land as a camping place. It goes from the fence behind the house all the way down to the tide line. Fifty thousand square meters. That's... ten, twelve acres? Direct access to the public beach, I don't need to drive back to the road to get to it."

"The widow finally passed away and I bought it from her estate and built the house. It was meant to be a surprise for you. I wanted to convince you to move in here. But you developed a flying phobia, and I decided to wait... Anyways, I put everything in Patrice's name from the start. The older pieces of furniture are my parents', from when they moved from Belgium and Sweden. The rest... I girlfriend of mine became architect. She helped out."

Linda looked up.

"A friend who happens to be a girl."

"So, this is Patrice's? And the money, you had it from your parents?"

"Some from them, and some I earned myself. Before."

"How come I never knew?"

"You never asked."

Her tears were now rolling.

"Thomas, I messed up. And not only that night. Before. In some many ways. I was... selfish."

"Agreed." He passed her another napkin.

"Thomas, I am sorry."

"Good. It's good to be sorry. That's how we learn."

Pause. The breeze through the veranda and the open living room was the only noise for over two minutes. Then he slowly stood up. "Linda, listen. I am glad you are here, and Patrice will be beyond himself. The thing is, I have trouble sleeping at night, you can imagine why. And then in the morning I am good for nothing, no matter how much coffee I take. I am going to hit the sack."

"You probably flew coach, you are tired. You can take the guest suite. First on the left. Towels and bed sheets in the closet. Have a shower, take a nap, go to the beach, have more food, nap on the hammock. Whatever you want. The WIFI password is by the fridge. At 1pm we go to town. I will do my lap swimming at the gym, and we pick up Patrice, ok? Welcome to Brazil. I am glad you finally get to see this, even if the circumstances are not what I wished."

With that, he left and locked himself in the master bedroom. What he told her was not an excuse. He had trouble sleeping. But he was barely keeping it together and he didn't want her to see him cry.

Thomas - Three hours and some sleep later

Thomas: Jeff, I am going to fire my lawyer.

Jeff: Why?

Thomas: What lawyer gives their client's address to the plaintiff?

Jeff: oh well... Don't tell me you are not happy to see her.

Thomas: did you pay her airfare as well?

Jeff: Nope, that was all her. She saved her money. She may have borrowed some. I think she's still behind on her student loans. Thomas, please treat her nicely.

Thomas: I am not going back, Jeff.

Jeff: Nobody is asking you to. Just give her a chance. Give yourself a chance. She's not the woman you left behind.

Thomas: I didn't leave. She left me.

Jeff: Potatoes, Potatos.

Thomas got out of bed, limped to the kitchen, ate a banana in two bites, stared at a somewhat nervous Linda, now dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, and began to limp to the car.

"Did you do anything?"

"Shower and sleep. You were right. Flying overnight sucks."

"That's why so few people come to South America for tourism. It's far. But once you get here... Grab a fruit before we go, I will wait in the car."

Linda caught up easily, Thomas walked slowly. She tried to help him climb to the Land Rover, but he gave up. His left leg was hurt, and the car was British. "Linda, you be my driver while you are here. It's easier for me to climb to the passenger seat." He saw her concern in her face. She saw the narrow streets and the crazy drivers, and she had never driven a British car. On non-British roads.

"Don't worry, you will get used in no time."

"What sort of car is this?"

"A 1980 Land Rover Defender. My dad bought it from a friend who worked at the UK consulate here. I sold to a friend, now bought it back from him."

She looked back, he had a booster seat for Patrice.

"Thomas, this car is old."

"You know I don't care for fancy cars. But I like this one. I am going to have it refurbished, but I haven't had the time yet."

"Thomas, I can see this is fun to drive and the last thing I want is to argue with you but... What if you get in an accident with Patrice? I have seen the roads here. It's obvious you have money you never told me about. Can't you afford another car? Something with airbags? Do they sell Rav4s here?"

Thomas just grunted.

(Two weeks later a 4WD Subaru with nine airbags showed up in the driveway.)

Linda just kept wondering where the money for all that came from. Super house, vintage car. Thomas was not working. She knew he didn't get the commission money from GameCorp. The deal didn't go through after he left.

But Thomas' voice made it clear he didn't want to discuss his money it any further.

They drove in silence along the coast to the downtown area, and then Thomas guided her to the gym. "I will swim for an hour, and then we will pick up the little boy. You must be anxious to see him." She just nodded.

"Why swimming?" She had never seen him swimming, but she recalled vaguely that he said he missed it. Their gym back in the US had no pool.

"Well, since the accident I can't surf, can't jog, can't walk, can't bike. The only thing left is swimming. To be honest, I am getting fed up already. I need some variety. But Larissa thinks it will be several months before I can jog again. Do you want to explore the village, or sit and watch?"

The mention of that woman's name made Linda wince. "Sit and watch." The village seemed quaint, but she was going to stay close to that man she thought she knew so well, and whom she missed so much. Specially because she clearly had a rival.

There was a viewing area with benches. She sat and waited. She couldn't help but stare when he walked out of the locker room. The Thomas about to jump in pool had, of course, that salt-burnt blond Swedish Belgian hair contrasting with his Brazilian sun-tanned skin. Now shirtless, he displayed a perfectly proportioned six-pack torso and abdomen. That was new. The Thomas she dated was never fat or out of shape. But he had no six-pack either.

She suddenly felt a tingling in her groins. She wanted that man, now more than ever. How could she have traded this for the glorified trained ape, the asshole? Thomas was infinitely more handsome, and hotter too. Could she win him back?

She didn't know what to expect, she'd never seen him swim. He was probably going to be goofy, if swimming was a replacement physical activity.

He jumped in perfectly and started with a smooth freestyle sprint, not breathing for the entire first lap; then an Olympic flip, then a single breath at the half mark of the second lap. Another flip. He was now breathing each sixth stroke. He went on and on and on. Perfect strokes and coordination for the entire hour. Non-stop. Flap, flap, flap. At the top of hour, he quit the pool, had a quick shower, and met her at the benches. Linda didn't know what to say.

"Where did you learn to swim?"

"Saint Paul's. I swam in their competitive team."

"What's that?"

"The same British School Patrice will attend."

She frowned at the implication of that assertive answer.

-0-

"You wait for him here, that's where the children will come out. I will inform the school director who you are and that he won't be using the bus today. I will wait by the side. Let him have a surprise."

Thomas watched from a reserved distance as a sobbing Linda hugged and kissed her son incessantly in the school yard. He tried to put a brave face, but he had to wipe some tears too, as did some of the teachers and mothers who knew their story. Their ride back home was a torrent of back-and-forth questions between mother and son who needed to get reacquainted. Thomas had to drive, both wanted to sit together in the back.

Linda played with Patrice for the rest of that day and night, mercifully leaving Thomas to his own thoughts. Thomas heard his son teaching Linda how to pronounce both his and her names in French and in Portuguese - there were nuances that she wasn't getting. Thomas thought of sticking his head in to say she'd get a B- for effort. He decided not to.

Linda also bathed her son, prepared his lunch and school uniform and tucked him in. He decided she could do it every night while she was in town. All the while he sat as this favorite chair listening to the annoying cicadas, reading a book on the Habsburgs, and drinking wine.

"May I?"

"Pull a chair and grab a glass. Or the other way around."

Silence.

"Your house is truly beautiful. The more I see it, the more I like. Everything is just right here... It's as if it was meant to be here, merging with the nature outside."

"It could have been yours."

"I miss you." She touched his shoulder; he didn't recoil immediately.

He looked at her. "You had an air of innocence about you, before. A bit of cluelessness, really."

"Cluelessness?" She pulled her hand.

"I don't mean it in a bad way. I liked it. It's what I liked about you. Even if sometimes I had to pull you back down to Earth from whatever dreamland you were at. You were a girl. Now I see an introspect woman. You aged."

"It hasn't been easy."

His face turned angry.

"No, please. I am not blaming you, Thomas. It was all my fault."

Silence.

He pointed at the night sky. "Tomorrow is full moon. I will call a sitter for Patrice, and I will take you to dine at a place to see the bay."

Her heart skipped a beat, and he noticed it. "It's not a date, Linda. You came all the way to this country, and it's not the country's fault that we are not seeing eye to eye. You must see the beauty. And we will go to the beach, too. You've got to get a tan. Any paler and you will be reflecting sun light. Help me up, please."

He went to bed.

The Following Day

Linda indulged herself with papayas and mangoes for breakfast. Fruits in that country were amazing. "Where do you get these fruits from?"

"Did you see a fruit vendor at the entrance of the compound? A truck with a tent shop? I spoke with them some months ago, and now they just bring me a box of their best fruit twice a week."

"But they must overcharge you?"

"Probably. But I haven't eaten bad fruit since I got into this arrangement with them. And they are hardworking people. But go easy on the fruits. Add some protein."

Linda enjoyed the beach. She'd been to Florida with Thomas, but the wavy, warm and windy beaches of South Brazil were something else. She was a child again and for a few hours forgot her problems. Her joy almost caught on to Thomas. He took pictures for her and allowed her to take selfies with them both, but he didn't smile.

"You don't get to share those with anyone."

"Can I send them to my parents?"

"Your parents, ok."

They'd come back during the weekend with Patrice to take a boat ride to the islands.

Thomas stole furtive glances at Linda's body from time to time. She had lost weight. She had never been fat; during her pregnancy she'd gained a couple of pounds of baby fat that never went away. It never bothered him. Now those pounds were gone and a few more. She had a great figure - one that came at a great cost to her. And to him, and to their son.

That afternoon, Linda drove alone to pick up her child and took care of him until dinner. Thomas didn't complain. She was anxious when they left for dinner, but Thomas reminded her it was not a date, and it was a very simple place. He was going in his standard uniform: short, t-shirt and sandals.

The view was impressive. Top of the mountain, overlooking the bay and the beach, all silverly due to the full moon. Magical. Thomas ordered a cold beer and fried breaded shrimp with chucks of cheese and pineapples. Linda, not feeling adventurous, something she thought would taste like home food, despite Thomas' warnings. When their food arrived, she was disappointed and ogled his plate.

"Here, switch plates."

"No, you don't have to."

"Linda, switch. I can have this any day."

She was a bit ashamed. "Thanks."

"Why didn't you drag me here before?"

He looked angry, she apologized. "I know, I wasn't easy. If only I could go back in time."

They ate their meal mostly in silence. Back at the house, she helped him out of the car and kiss him lightly on his cheeks. "Thank you."

Thomas noticed she slept in Patrice's bed, cuddling her son. Good for her.

The days passed and not once Thomas asked when Linda's departure date was. He either didn't care or pretended he didn't. They didn't all things a family would do. Beach time, a weekend trip to Rio (they booked separate rooms), a day trip to a nearby town of Parati. Then Thomas had to go to the big metropolis, São Paulo, for business, and asked Linda if she could take care of Patrice for a day and two nights. He hired a driver, and she could keep the car.

Linda roamed the house while he was away. The backwall of the living room was a massive library, with books floor to ceiling, and a wooden ladder than ran sideways on a rail. One thing she did know was that Thomas liked to read. About anything. She started browsing the titles. Lots on game coding. Contemporary novels. Loads of books in the other languages he spoke: Portuguese, French and Flemish. She got to a section on European nobility. Who read about that? There were old annuaries about kings and dukes and barons.

Then she found an Oxford yearbook. Oxford? She opened and browsed it. Jeff Skinner and Thomas de Mazière. There was a 'de' in the middle of his name right there that she didn't know existed. Trinity College. He went to Oxford. Freaking amazing! She wanted to know more. LinkedIn! She never bothered looking him up on LinkedIn. She went to her laptop, but he did not have a LinkedIn account. Jeff was right, he was low key.

She googled "Thomas de Mazière + Oxford" and got to the school's alumni website. Why didn't she think of that? Oxford B. Sc., Oxford M. Sc., Oxford PhD, Quantum Computing! Wow. Quantum computing sounded complex. She took a detour to read about it. And to think she thought he had studied computer science.

She kept using Google and ChatGPT to find more about him. In thirty minutes, she found or deduced it all. Jeff and Thomas were close friends at Oxford. After their undergrad studies, Jeff went into law, and Thomas physics and computing. Thomas liked gaming, he designed Fortress Crush as a past time during the last couple of years of his PhD, and upon graduation decided to launch it. It became a success, he moved back to Brazil in a hurry (she didn't know why - yet), and only two years later sold the game for $80m to GameCorp. Thomas was insanely rich! No wonder his GameCorp attorneys pretty much forced him to sign a pre-nup.

He became an employee of GameCorp by mutual agreement with his counterparts and future bosses and was tasked with finding more games to buy. He moved to the US. He used to tell her he'd not stay in the US very long; he just wanted to learn how the country worked, what was all the fuss about 'the American ways,' and learn their way of doing business. She now understood why. He was not the typical immigrant who came to the US to make his life. Thomas' life was made. Before.

She texted her conclusions to Jeff.

You are about half-way there, was the response.

Why did he move back from Europe after his PhD?

I wouldn't ask him that until you are very well reconciled, and perhaps not even then.

Tks.

She shut her laptop and went back to the bookshelf. Old photo albums. Thomas and his parents. In a beach, in a forest, in a farm, in a big city she imagined to be São Paulo. In front of some very big waterfalls (Much bigger than Niagara, she had seen photos of it at the airport). In some place in Europe. At a planted forest. More planted forests, in front of a sawmill. Weird.

Another album, Thomas is older, maybe ten. They are dressed up, gala. His father in Tuxedo. His mother, very beautiful. Flashy jewelry. Europe for sure. In the gardens of a palace. Then inside the palace. Then the same trio with some more old people that she didn't recognize. She flipped more pages, tons and tons of people very well dressed. Finally, they were posing with someone she could not possibly mistake: the Queen. Of England, Wales, etc. That one. Linda felt dizzy. She did not put the album back; she would definitively ask Thomas about it. How could that be possible? She already inferred his parents were rich people, but to go to parties in palaces and socialize with the Queen!

She moved on. Another photo album. Teenager Thomas, also in Europe. Summer. Lots of blonde teenagers. Sweden? A few beautiful girls, Thomas holding hands with a girlfriend. Thomas kissing the girlfriend. Laughing. Girlfriend topless at some Nordic beach. Linda getting very angry and very jealous. Deep breath. Ancient past. She'd had boyfriends before Thomas, too. And besides, she had no right, not after the fuck up.

She tried to put the album back on the shelf when an envelope fell off. On the cover, his handwriting. Never take life for granted. Inside, some photos. A car crash, obviously in Brazil. Thomas's parents killed on sight. Not the Land Rover, some other old car. Their bodies torn. She was a trained nurse, she'd seen worse and in real life. She'd nevertheless shocked. Why did he keep those photographs? Two more photos. The same old girlfriend, and Linda. She understood why.

She stored everything safely away. May his parents rest in peace. She'd have a lot to talk to Thomas when he came back.

Linda and Thomas

"Is it too late to ask about your past?"

Linda should have chosen her timing better. Thomas had just arrived from his business trip and was visibly tired and annoyed. "Why?"

"Because. Please? I'd like to know what I missed all these years."

He scrutinized her face.

"What did you snoop?"

"Your photos and your yearbook..." She made a coy face.

He was upset. She put up her best disarmed and apologetic face. "Please don't be angry. You invited me into your world, I got curious."

"I did not invite you. You showed up here the other day, unannounced."

"Please Thomas. This here is all so different." She waved around. "I got a glimpse of a man I didn't know existed! And all that I lost. Please, I..."

"Because you didn't care."

"Guilty. But know I do! I do care."

"Why? It's not like we are together." That must have hurt, but she didn't flinch.

"Don't you think I have the right to know my son's background? There's obviously a lot of history. The other day you almost died." She pointed at this wounded leg. "You drive an old and unsafe car. If something happens to you, your son won't know."

He took a deep breath. "That's low, Linda. But you have a point. IF you bring me a beer. And some peanuts. I am freaking tired. I will get rid of this stupid suit and be in my chair."

"But I need to go pick up Patrice."

"You started it. We do it now. He's been coming home by bus just fine until you got here."

"Ok."

-0-

"What do you want to know?"

"Who are all these people?" She showed him the photos.

"That's the King and Queen of Sweden, my mother's relatives. She was a first cousin of his.

"Really?"

He just nodded.

"And these?"

"Bunch of cousins and aunts and uncles from my father side. That reminds me: I have been meaning to ask you; I need your written authorization to take Patrice to visit family in Europe. I can't take him outside Brazil if you don't sign it."

That angered her. "What? You won't let me take him to the US, but you want me to let you take him to Europe?"

"It's in his interest, Linda. And you can come too."

"I have no money, and I need to work."

"Money is not a problem."

"What are you saying, Thomas?"

"That money is not a problem."

"Thomas, please, don't play with me. You know..." She was wincing, in anguish.

"You are right." Pause. "But... Please sign it, and I promise we will find a way to bring you along. You get to spend time with Patrice, and I think we proved we can be civil to one another."

"You won't consider coming back to the US?"

"Look around, Linda. We have the ocean, weather, food, private schools. Why would we?"

"I know..." She was gloomy but pushed it aside.

"What about this photo?" She showed him the photo with the Queen.

"I am sure you know who that is, no?"

"Thomas!"

"Alright. Same event, in Stockholm. Rare thing, the Queen didn't like to attend to other monarchs too often, I was told."

"And this one?"

"That's our ancestral estate, Chateau d'Outremont. I haven't been there in ten years. That's where I want to go with Patrice."

"You have a chateau?"

"Technically, it belongs to the foundation. L'Outremont Stichting."

"What did you say?"

"L'Outremont Stichting. He pronounced it in the French-Flemish mixture.

"Spell it."

He did.

"It was you!" She was suddenly mad at him.

"You gave them the money for my job. I saw someone putting up that name on the panel of donors on the hospital, and I thought 'how weird.' Then my boss said that was the foundation that donated the grant that funded my job. No wonder they were ok with giving me vacations so soon. You motherfucker! You are playing with me." She was raging, and shouting. "Look, I messed up, I will regret what I did for the rest of my life. I had the worst time, and I destroyed my family. Us. My parents. Everything. You fled here, and I didn't blame you. But you don't have the right to play God. I am here trying my best to have us as a family again. But then, I have nothing, and you have everything. You are just a sadistic rich bastard. Fuck you, Thomas!"

She ran to her bedroom and slammed the door.

He sighed. She was right. In a way, he did play her. Perhaps not on purpose, but out of spite and indecisiveness. He was not a sadistic rich bastard (at least he didn't think he was), but that's exactly how he looked to her. Enough. She was sorry. She wanted him. He wanted her back - he had decided he'd forgive her the moment she walked through the door; yet they were doing nothing but hurting one another. Correction. He was doing the hurting. She was humbly throwing olive branches; he was slapping them away. Idiot.

He stood up and went after her. He knocked, opened the door, but didn't enter the bedroom. She was curled in bed, her back to the door, sobbing.

"Yes, it was me. I did it because I felt bad for you, and what I did to you was too rash. I am here, living this good but empty life, and you were there, alone and unemployed. I had to help you, but I was too proud to cave in. I still wanted you to suffer but not be overly unfair. It was stupid. I am not a sadistic rich bastard. I was just angry, and I am sorry."

She didn't answer.

"I mean it, Linda. Can we try again? Please?"

"Go fuck yourself, Tom."

They heard a noise. "Patrice is here. I will keep him entertained, you rest, and we talk later, ok?"

But Patrice was already by his mother's door. "O que a mãe tem?"

"She's not feeling well, and it hurts her, that's why she's crying. Let's give her a good kiss and a hug, and then come out and play videogames, ok? She needs to rest." Thomas kissed and smelled her hair for a bit longer than necessary and left the room. She didn't move.

Patrice hugged his mother but after some minutes got restless. Dad took him to the beach. He left Linda a note in case she came out of her room. They were hit by a thunderstorm on the way back; probably the first of the rainy season. It was scary enough that even Linda had to come out of her cocoon to see.

"It's quite the spectacle, no?"

"Are we safe here?" She asked.

"Yes. The house's foundation is nailed to the bedrock and the roof is a poured concreted layer. It doesn't look like it, but this house is a bunker."

"Then I am going to bed." She was still bitter.

That night, Thomas tucked Patrice in, changed into his long pajamas, retrieved a king-sized duvet from the closet (he knew it would get cold overnight), and knocked at Linda's bedroom. He asked for permission to join her in bed, she just gruntled. He took that as a reluctant yes and they cuddled.

"I love you, Linda." he whispered. "And I deserved what you told me earlier."

Hugging Linda, Thomas slept through the night and half the following morning, for the first time since February 25th.

The Following Morning, 9AM

Thomas woke up to find his wife cleaning dishes at the kitchen counter, her back towards him. He hugged her from behind and kissed her neck. She froze and melted in his arms. He wished he could freeze time instead.

"Did you send the little pest off to preschool?"

She just nodded.

"Thanks. I didn't hear the alarm. I haven't slept so well since..."

She sniffed. He force-turned her around and soft kissed her lips.

"I am sorry, Linda. I can explain. I swear I wasn't playing you. I was just angry and ashamed, and..."

"It's not that, it's... I am leaving tomorrow, Thomas. I thought I was going to come here to bring you both home. How silly I was. But look at all this. I can never compete."

"Stay."

Her eyes sparkled.

"May I?"

"I think you should."

"Are you still playing with me? You don't get to play with me anymore, Thomas. Please."

He looked her in the eyes, then took her hands. "No. I mean it. I want us to try again. Please stay."

"What if it doesn't work?"

"Then it doesn't. But we owe it to ourselves, no?"

"But then I am out of job, out of a life, and away from my son."

"I won't allow that. Just don't cheat on me again."

"Never." She smiled. Her childish innocent smile from all those years ago. He loved it.

"Thomas, sit down, I will bring you breakfast."

-0-

"Thomas, if your mother is a cousin of the king, does that make you... what?"

"What do you mean?"

"Was she a princess, or..."

He sipped his coffee, took a deep breath, and sighed.

"You want to know if we have a noble title. Not from that side of the family. But from my father. Linda, did you ever see your son's Brazilian and Belgian passports?"

"No. Thomas, I am so ashamed..."

"Not for lack of opportunity. I registered him with both consulates. In the US, he's Patrice Brown-Maziere. But elsewhere he is Patrice Lündgren de Mazière-Naat, and he will be the Count of Outremont-Naat, the eleventh of his lineage and the fifth by that name. Do you get why I insist that you pronounced his name right?"

She was speechless. Then she stood up, walked around the veranda, bent over, and shouted to the wind. "SHIT! You bastard!"

"Are you mad at me again?"

"Is there anything else you haven't told me?"

"Sit. Here's the family history, Cliff notes version. Family has owned a County since the 1700s, before Belgium was a country. The family fought with Napoleon against Austria and Russia. All that was ok. But I am not a big fan of my family's heritage for what happened after. They were involved in the Belgian Congo. They made a lot of money there in the late 1800s. Belgian Congo. Look that up on ChatGPT. Not Belgium's brightest moment, nor my family's. We have been giving a lot of charity money in Africa ever since. But no amount of money will ever atone for what Belgium did there."

"Now, my mother's family used to own commercial forests in Sweden. Her father had the wisdom of slowly selling land there and buying here when the land prices were right. For each hectare they sold there, they bought one hundred here. And planted forests grow fast here. My father saw how smart that was and put most of his family's capital into it as well. Our family trust supplies timber to the local paper mills, to IKEA, Faber-Castell, Caran-d'Achè, P&G... My cousins get to live their aristocratic lives in the Alps and the Cote d'Azur, and I get to surf and program video games. And get rich independently again. And be with you."

"Forgive my asking... How rich is your family?"

"The family equity is valued at over $1Billion. Split three ways. We have some credit lines - just in case - but no debt. Cash-flow of $180m per year, after tax. We donate one-third to charity. Sometimes more. And that, Linda, is why I travel once a quarter. Board meetings and site visits of a $1b family trust. Not to fornicate."

"And we lived in a townhome..."

"And your friends drove flashy cars they couldn't afford. Screw them. By the way, what car did Marc have?"

"Something flashy and tasteless you wouldn't approve of. Yours is classy. Dangerous but classy."

Silence.

"Thomas, what is the story of this?" She pointed at her ring.

"I've been told that an ancestor who fought with Napoleon bought it from a bankrupt Austrian baron after the battle of Austerlitz. Look up Austerlitz later. I now regretted that I broke that ring. It alone could have paid Patrice's university. Please let me repair it."

"No!" Pause. "You said Patrice will be the Count. Does he know?"

"Of course not. In a few years he will."

"But if he will be the Count, that means you-"

"Yes. My full name is Thomás Antonius Lündgren de Mazière-Naat, Count of Outremont-Naat. That's what says in my Belgian passport and in annals of the Raad van Adel."

"So, all this time, I have been married to a... Count?"

He just nodded.

"Gosh, how stupid can I be? Thomas, I am so sorry. I will never forget myself for being so... self-centered."

"Linda don't forgive yourself, but don't beat yourself up too much. It's time to turn the page." Pause. "And don't drown yourself in Clonazepam."

"You know that too."

"I've been told."

Silence.

"How do I treat you?"

"Nicely, lovingly, with all the due respect a good husband deserves."

"No, you silly. I mean like, your Majesty, your Excellency?"

He chuckled. "That's for kings and ministers. If you absolutely must, and I can totally see this becoming a joke very quickly, especially if you do this in front of Jeff-"

"Does he know this?"

"Jeff knows everything."

"Go on..." She made a motion with her hand.

"You may call me 'Your Grace, Sir Thomás Antonius, Count of Outremont-Naat', or just 'Your Grace', or 'Sir Thomás'."

She stood up and made a phony curtsy and repeated it for emphasis. He was annoyed. "I got you the first time, you know? And by the way, that applies to you too."

"What?"

"You are the countess. At least in Belgium you are. I had to send your birth and marriage certificate along with Patrice's birth documents. I am sure you are registered in the Adel books."

She was dumbfounded.

He stood up and bowed. "Shall we go the beach, Your Grace? We can eat a very noble fake meat hot dog for lunch down there."

-0-

"Can you teach me surfing?"

"Not with my weak leg and that bikini of yours. You will have to wait."

"What's wrong with the bikini?"

"Very sexy, love it, not very strong, this is not a nudist beach. And as much as I'd love to see you naked again, I don't want the rest of the beach goers to."

"Ah!"

Silence.

"Thomas... Can we sleep together tonight?"

Silence.

"Like last night?"

"No, I was thinking a bit more..."

"Like last night is ok. I am not sure about more than that, Linda. Not yet."

"You just said..."

She eyed him. She expected anger, but found... fear?

"Please? It's been so long. We can take it slow. It's always been you who did things in bed for me. After we.... separated, I realized how I always received and never gave you, and I decided that if we ever got back together, I wanted to be the one..." She was blushing. She stood up from her beach chair, sat on the sand next to his and put her hand on his chest.

"I like that, Linda, really. I am just not sure I am ready."

She just looked at him, pleading eyes. He sighed.

"You have to promise me not to be mad at me if I can't."

"Ok."

"Do it."

"I promise."

Later

They called the sitter, went out for an early dinner at the top of the mountain, had some beer (the place was so simple it sold no wine), and got back after Patrice was in bed. Linda put a bit of music on Spotify, and they tried a bit of clumsy slow dancing. She noticed Thomas was a bit nervous (and so was she), so she just hugged him, kissed him and rested her head on his chest. It felt good and they both calmed down.

They cuddled on the hammock, and she had to initiate the foreplay. After some minutes, Thomas reacted, had an erection, and engaged. She stood up and took him gently by hand to his bedroom. They were mostly in the dark, with just a bit of light from the hall. She gently undressed him, had him lay down and them watch as she undressed herself. She laid on top of him and she could feel his erection getting stiffer.

She slid to the side and kissed him as she gently played his shaft with her fingers. Thomas hesitated, but then his hand began to roam her body. After a while, she went down on him. He tried to stop her, but she shushed him. "I will be gentle. Please let me do it."

"Linda, no please." He was shivering.

"Thomas, we have done it before."

She got down to his penis just as images of the past started flashing through his head. The videos of Linda dancing and kissing Mr. LaFuckerie. Running with him to the backdoor of the club. Dried cum stains in her dress. Hinkies. Then much older flash images. From Oxford. From before Oxford. The lake house in Sweden. Holding hands. First love. First time. Love forever.

He was paralyzed, sobbing and whispering "Linda! Stop, please."

She was busy, she wasn't listening.

He imagined Marc coming in her mouth. His mind was in a whirlwind, he didn't know where he was. Hyperventilating. Linda. Marc. He was whispering. "Marc, You Asshole." That caught Linda's attention. But then it was Camille. He imagined Michael coming in...

"CAMILLE STOP!" He kicked Linda off the bed with both his knees.

"Stop please!" He was curled into a naked ball and crying. "Stop, stop, I can't, I can't, go away, go away, go away, go a... I can't, just go, please. Why did you do this to me, Camille. With him. With Marc, my best friend." He was hyperventilating.

Linda was mentally and emotionally stunned, and in physical pain. She just sat there. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes, she picked up her clothes, kissed his forehead, caressed his hair. Then she closed the door and left to cry and think and sleep in her own bed.

Next morning

Thomas woke up at 10am to an empty house and a handwritten note.

I sent Patrice to school and left to the airport. I am sorry Thomas. I will forever love you, but you are not well, and neither am I. Please don't call me, I won't pick up.

She didn't say anything about texting.

T: Why?

L: You don't remember?

T: I remember I pushed you, but you promised me you'd not be mad. I didn't hurt you, did I?

L: I am a bit bruised, but it's nothing. But I didn't expect THAT.

His memory was fuzzy. The night was too much.

T: THAT what? What did I do? Linda, I love you. We have to keep trying. Please don't give us up. PLEASE?

L: Not now, Thomas. But I will send you the travel authorization for Patrice that you want.

T: Thank you. Linda?

L: What?

T: If I send Patrice to be with you during school breaks, do you promise to bring him back?

L: I promise. Thank you.

T: But YOU bring him back. I want to see you, Linda. Please at least come to Europe with us. For him?

L: That I can't promise. I am hurt, Thomas.

T: Why? You promised you'd not be mad.

L: You don't remember?

T: Remember what? I asked you to stop, you didn't! LINDA!

Silence.

L: Goodbye for now, Thomas.

T: Linda, please!

T: Linda?

Linda?

Why was she doing that? He remembered he kicked her out of the bed, but she had promised! He'd go after her. Could he travel to the US? He called his accountant.

"Under absolutely no circumstances you are to set foot in US soil until March 1st of next year. You relinquished your residency, we unwound your trust, now is the most sensitive period. If you go back, you give the IRS the excuse they need to back tax you and potentially even sue you. And Thomas? They are watching you. I got two letters of inquiry already."

"What if I got in with my other passport?"

"They know you are a dual citizen, remember? That would only make it worse. Misrepresentation."

Shit! He went for a limping walk around his property. What did he do wrong? What is he supposed to remember?

He called his assistant at the Stichting. "I don't know if she's traveling as Mrs. Linda Brown or Linda Maizière or Brown-Maizière. She will connect through Miami, so it must be AA or a local airline. Please find her and bump her up to first class and get her curb side welcome and all that. It's the least I can do.

He had nothing to do. The house felt empty, he felt... anxious. 11am. He went for a swim and swam for three hours. He was exhausted by the time he picked up his kid.

"Mommy left. But she said maybe we'd meet for Christmas."

"She did?" There was hope.

He one last text from her at night.

Thank you for the upgrade.

He looked at his watch. Are you in the plane?

Yes.

Enjoy, and thank you for the visit. I love you. Please don't give up on me.

He saw that his reply was received and read, but that was it. It was his turn on the receiving end of radio silence. A bit later, he went for a shot of his aguardente. Looking down, he saw that a photo album was misplaced. He pulled it out and opened it and started browsing. He inevitably landed on photographs of Camille, and he remembered. He'd called Linda Camille. No wonder. He'd had a panic attack. The third in his entire life.

Stupid. He should have explained it her. Before. He was making mistake on top of mistake. He looked at his watch. She was flying. It was ok, he'd explain it all to her in the morning, and she'd understand. He slept well.

Next Day

Linda did not pick up. Nor did her parents. He texted her; the texts went unreceived. Not unread. Unreceived. He called her phone, not WhatsApp, an actual phone call. She'd blocked him. Why?

He tried her parents land line, but he remembered they disconnected that some years ago. Emails went unanswered. Why was he being ghosted? He didn't like that one bit. What could he do? Jeff! Jeff of course knew everything about Oxford, Camille. He could pay Linda a visit and explain. He messaged Jeff. Not delivered.

He called. Unanswered.

He called his office. A junior paralegal answered and reminded him that Jeff was taking his sabbatical in Nepal and wouldn't be back for another thirty-five days. She was sure Jeff had mentioned it to Thomas. Thomas replied he remembered it vaguely and thanked her.

"Is there anything else I can do?"

"Could you track down my wife Linda for me, and tell her, no, beg her to give me five minutes of her time? Please? And tell her our son is well and misses her."

The woman knew enough of their situation. "I will try."

A week had passed, and the woman called back.

"Sir, I don't know how to put this. I found her at her parents; she said she's not ready to speak with you, but she said she will eventually. She said all is good and she said you should not worry. She is happy to hear of your son."

"Good, I am happy."

"But sir..." The woman was reticent.

"What?"

"I saw her yesterday at Starbucks with that football player. It was during the day; they were not touching. They did not leave together, they didn't kiss. But I did see them. I thought you should know. I am sorry, sir. I hope I did the right thing."

"Claire? It's Claire, right? Can you hire a PI and put it on my bill?"

Thomas was spinning. His world was crumbling again. He collapsed to the floor, hyperventilated, considered jumping off the cliff in front of the house. It took all his willpower to not do it. For Patrice. And he had to fight for Linda. He could not believe she would go back to that monkey, not after everything. Jeff would be back in thirty days. It could be too late. He could fly to the US and pay the fine. Was Linda worth that? Yes. But he could also be jailed for tax fraud. Fraud that he did not commit. That he could not risk. Shit! He had to have a way to talk to her, but he had no leverage.

But he did!

It took him an excruciating day, but he was on the phone with Linda's hospital chief of HR. He found the woman and called her in five minutes, but she wouldn't take his call. He had to go through the proper route. His foundation president (a cousin) called the hospital board chairman, who called the hospital CEO who called... When the Chief HR Officer calls a nurse to her officer at her earliest convenience, the earliest convenience is usually three minutes ago, unless she's tending to a dying patient.

Am I being fired? Did Thomas pull my funding?

"Linda Brown-Maziere?"

"Yes?"

She was holding a phone in her hand. "The person on the line went through great lengths to find you."

"I have nothing to say to him yet."

"But he does, young lady. And I heard it, and he asked for five minutes, and I think you owe it to him. Please. I won't step out of the room before you greet him."

Linda was royally pissed.

"Your Grace?" That got her bosses eyebrows up, but it counted as a greeting. She stepped out of the office.

"Thomas, really. I told you I'd speak with you when I was ready. Did you have to pull rank on me like that?"

"I am sorry, I was desperate. I tried everything. I was waiting for Jeff to come back from his trip to go talk to you, but then..."

"Then what?"

"His associate saw you with Marc. Please don't do that, Linda. Don't take revenge on me. I know what I did, I remembered, and there is an explanation. There's... old trauma. Camille was... ancient history. Years before you. She b... b... She..." He started babbling. "Shit, Linda, I can't talk about it, it's too painful. Can I write it to you? Please tell me your new phone number. Email?"

"No writing please. You won't leave me alone if I give you my number, and right now I can't. Sorry. Not yet, Thomas. Please respect me. You kept me in the pigpen for a half year, it's your turn."

"I will send you a letter then. To the hospital."

"I won't read it, Thomas."

"Why are you doing this to me?" He was running desperate. "JEFF! Then let Jeff tell you. PLEASE! He will be back in less than a month. Please don't go out with Marc again before you hear it from him, please. He will tell you who Camille and Michael were. I know you must be jealous. If this is about getting back at me, please don't. I don't have feelings for her, Linda. Only you. I know how it sounds, but she..." He was sobbing. He took a deep breath.

"Please don't destroy us. Listen to Jeff before you do something you will regret. Please. Promise. Please."

She felt his pain, but she couldn't resist stabbing him just a bit.

"How does it feel, Mar... I mean, Tom? To be in the receiving end of radio silence?"

"Bad. Miserable."

"Thomas, listen. There is nothing you can do, and if you call here again, I won't pick up. I don't care if they fire me. We will speak again when and only when I am ready."

"When will that be?"

"Whenever I decide. But I will hear whatever Jeff has to say. I promise you that much. And I won't do anything stupid. Not with Marc nor anyone else. I told you, we both need time to heal."

"Then why did you meet him?"

"That's none of your business. Goodbye Thomas. Remember, I love you."

"I lov-"

Linda took a deep breath and wiped tears as she walked out of the office.

Thomas

Thomas seethed in angst each time he received reports from his PI. Linda met with Marc LaBestière three times, once every week, over the previous three weeks. Always on her days off. Twice for coffee in the afternoon, once for lunch. Thomas had the photographs. At the first time, they briefly hugged goodbye. At the second time, he walked her back to her car and Marc kissed her on her cheek before she climbed in and left. At the third time, for lunch, he ventured a quick French kiss, but she turned her head at the last minute. So far, there had been no cheating, but he knew where that was leading. He was hanging on her last few words, but he was desperate. He could already see the petition for divorce finally coming out of the drawer.

Jeff was coming back tomorrow.

Jeff

Thomas: Jeff, you are probably jet-lagged, but you have to go to see Linda asap and tell her everything about Camille. Today, please!

Jeff: Hello, Thomas, how are you?

Thomas: Jeff, please. This is serious. Can I call you?

They spoke for an hour, and a jet-lagged and sleep deprived Jeff scheduled a meeting with Linda in his office for the following morning. That was alright for Linda. She had promised Thomas to listen to Jeff before she did anything stupid. Her date night with Marc was the night after.

She arrived punctually, and Jeff examined her. He thought she looked different. Determined, but also tense. He decided to break the ice.

"So, your grace, may I offer you some coffee? I am afraid I have no tea and no scones." That brought her to a laugh.

"And to think I have been a Countess all those years..."

"Would you have done things differently? If you knew?"

"That's a judgmental question."

"Sorry. Once you asked me why Thomas left Europe in a hurry after his PhD."

She nodded.

"I told you to wait and ask him one day. It has to do with Camille. The first and only love of his life. Before you. He's only taken two women to bed. Camille. Linda. Both betrayed him in spectacular fashion."

"Oh no!"

"Camille was a second cousin, from Sweden. They dated since he was 16 or 17. She was a year older. He spent Brazilian winters in Europe; she spent Christmas in Brazil. I have a picture here somewhere."

"I saw a photo, don't bother."

"She also went to Oxford. She got there before him."

He took a detour. "Linda, Thomas is beyond intelligent. He was accepted into colleges everywhere. Oxford, yes, but also Cambridge, Harvard, MIT, Stamford. He went to Oxford to be with her. Lucky me, I made a friend for life. Unlucky him."

"He didn't tell me any of that."

"Low key, remember? He will never brag."

"We were four friends throughout university and doctorate. Thomas, me, Camille, and... Michael. Thomas thought Michael was his best friend. At some time, I was a bit jealous. Because they were into videogames and I couldn't care less."

"But Camille and Michael?"

"Yes. Camille was emotionally and socially unhinged. Nowadays, when I look back, I recognize all the traits of a sociopath. Back then, we didn't know. But... She dated them both. For her, it was normal. She did nothing wrong. She felt entitled to it. She fucked them both, often on the same day. And later we found she had another boyfriend in Sweden. Michael knew of Thomas, Thomas didn't know of Michael. One day, Thomas flew to Brazil to pick up his mother's ring, yours, from the vault..." Linda covered it with her right hand, "... to ask Camille in marriage. His mother was already dead then.

Camille accepted. They went to bed. Michael walks in on them and fakes outrageousness. Detail: Michael had fucked Camille not three hours before Thomas asked her in marriage. Thomas pulled the ring off Camille's hand, punched Michael in his face, broke his nose, his ribs, and walked barefoot in his underwear back to our flat."

Linda was shocked. "This ring is cursed."

"Maybe. There is more. Camille is royalty in her country. 13th to the throne or something. You know how shy your husband is. He fakes it when he must, but he's shy. After that episode, he severed ties, with Camille, and with the entire family. He only meets his cousins for business, and an old aunt."

"He wrapped up his PhD in seclusion, declined all social invitations from his circles, launched his game, moved to Brazil, sold the company, shoved his independent success to everybody's face - specially Camille's, and found the love of his life. Or thought he did."

"If that hadn't happened, he would have continued his research. The research team he was involved is rumored to win the Nobel prize in a few years. He was that good. But he put his energy into the videogame and became a multimillionaire, a second time."

She was pensive.

"Linda, he as a PI following you. He told me what happened in Brazil and that you reconciled, but then something happened on your last night there, and you ghosted him. You can't possibly be thinking of going out with Marc. What the heck are you doing?"

"There is something I have to get out of my system, and then things will be fine."

Marc

Marc couldn't believe this luck.

He had heard around the city how bad the repercussion of his night with that Linda woman had been. And that the husband got so mad he left the country with their son. Awesome. And then the cuck's personal story slowly emerged. He was not some nerdy computer programmer who got lucky with a hot chick. He was a self-made tech multimillionaire living in disguise. That made his stealing the man's wife even sweeter. He liked to make husbands into cucks. He loved to make rich, entitled and snob husbands into cucks.

And then Linda goes to Brazil, tries to salvage her marriage but he can't fuck her because he has nightmares of him, Marc? Priceless. Then the woman comes back and what does she do? She has that slut shitbrained good-for-nothing friend of hers, Debie? Dee? Dee! Useless cunt, not good for half a fuck, set up a coffee meeting with him.

This was going to be an epic fuck-a-ton, specially knowing that hubby was going to see everything through the eyes of his incompetent private investigator and not able to do anything to prevent it, because he can't set foot in the US. Maybe this time Marc will bring his wife back home to him, all the way back in Brazil.

Marc had met Linda three times. They hadn't kissed or made out yet, but he was sure the PI photos made poor hubby Tom's blood boil already. And tonight was going to be the night. He was going to fuck Lisa, no, Linda, again. Lights on, blinds open, to make sure the PI got it all on camera. But first, a nice dinner. He wanted the club, to show her off, but she insisted on dinner. Never mind, he had booked a table right by the window.

She was still living with their parents and had told him they couldn't know of their date; so, she had supposedly taken an extra night shift at the hospital. She went there to change, and he picked her up there. A weird pick-up place, but whatever. He understood. He wanted to give the car to the valet driver as he usually did, but she insisted on parking on an available parking spot on the other side of the street from the restaurant.

"Why?"

"Why not? The entire street is empty, this side is a park, and valets take forever to bring the car around. Park it here, we can leave in a hurry!" He liked that. They crossed the street on foot to the restaurant. They had a nice meal, a bit of wine; Marc drunk more than Linda. He slipped and called her Lisa once or twice. She pretended she didn't notice. She had to go to the restroom once. Twice. She was a little tense. He tried to kiss her a few times. Towards the end of the meal, she allowed him.

As they stood up to leave, he kissed her again, and his hand slid to her ass, over her dress. Thomas would later fight to not puke when he saw those photos. He grabbed her ass a few times again as they walked out of the restaurant. As they reached the curb, she turned around and put her finger to his lip.

"Shhh. I need to call Dee. One sec."

"Hi Dee. We are heading out now. Sure, I will tell you everything tomorrow!"

"Hey stud! Catch me to the car?" And she ran ahead, across the street.

Marc ran after her, somewhat dizzy. Linda was at the curb, waiting for him. Marc was almost at the drivers' door when an old F-150 truck hit him and his Lamborghini, dragging him over fifty feet, and destroying his legs forever. Exactly as Linda and her co-conspirator, a cheated husband who reached out to her back in March, had planned.

(Marc never exposed himself unnecessarily. The cheated husband had been trying to get back at him for over a year, but Marc used valet parkers, limos, hired security, or surrounded himself with teammates. The poor man needed Linda as bait to get Marc to drop his shield. Back in March, she didn't want any part in the man's plan. Back from Brazil, she did.)

It was however not in her plans to get hurt. The truck didn't only hit Marc, it also hit and pushed the Lamborghini against the curb, throwing Linda backwards. She hit her head hard against a low-rising lawn barrier, and lost consciousness.

Thomas would see photos and snippets of videos of the entire drama the following morning, so he knew what to expect when Jeff called him.

"I spoke with her parents. There's internal bleeding putting pressure on the brain. Doctors had to drain her blood twice. She's still in ICU."

"Jeff, what did I do to deserve all this?"

"Thomas, I am sorry."

Thomas was torn between filing for divorce or flying to see her, something he couldn't yet do at any rate.

"Thomas, I can't explain why she did it. She cried when I told her about Camille. And the next day she goes out with that man. You have every right to divorce her, and I'd like to serve her myself if I can. But... you know in your heart you can't do that yet. And the courts wouldn't let you do it until the dust settles anyways. Be patient. You are not getting married anytime soon, are you? In practice, you are divorced."

Another month

Linda's bleeding had stopped. MRIs got done; her brain was alright. She was healing physically, but she had slid into a coma two days after the accident and refused to come out of it. Doctors told her parents, who told Jeff, who told Thomas, that she could wake up in a week, a month, a year, or never. The brain was still mostly a mystery to modern medicine. They also did tell them that the more stimulation she got - electrical, sensorial, muscular, the better her odds.

But she wouldn't get it. Her medical insurance was running out. They could move to a standard long-term comatose wing of a nearby care center, where she'd get very standard care. Linda's parents thought of suing Marc LaValliere. Jeff told them that would take time, that Linda didn't have. They wanted to sell their house to cover her expenses.

Jeff took a deep breath and did the only thing he could do.

Thomas had his own personal asset management company (not the family's stichting) foot the bill for the best care facility her colleagues could recommend, at a rate of $200k/month plus incidentals: the very same hospital where Linda was employed. Linda was to have constant sensorial and physical stimulation she required, in the place that gave her employment some months before.

Linda's sister finally reached out to Thomas, apologized for the first time ever, and thanked him for the attention. Both in hers and their parents' name. And then she did again a faux pas.

"She loves you, you know?"

He snorted. "If she does, she must have some very twisted notion of what love is. She comes here to reconnect. I drop my defenses, all is good, tears of joy all around. And then at the first bump in the road what does she do? She flies back to the asshole. What the hell, Carol? I think she's a sociopath, just like Camille. That is my curse. Make no mistake, I am divorcing her as soon as I can, comatose or not. I am paying for her care out of respect for your parents and because I couldn't live with not doing what I can for my son's mother. But it was good that you called. Now I know exactly what I have to do. There's someone who could never hurt me." He said a hurried goodbye and ended the call.

Carol was left wondering who Camille was, while Thomás phoned Larissa, his physiotherapist.

Epilogue: July 2026

She got off the cab, paid the driver by credit card, and pulled up her coat. Light rain hit her face, and some wind. The car's thermometer said 10 Celsius. 50 Fahrenheit, maybe? She didn't think the weather could get that cold and wet. It was winter in the Southern hemisphere. She wasn't too well prepared.

The Land Rover was there, and a Subaru. He'd gotten a better car. Good. She looked through the car window, Patrice's booster seat was in the Subaru, not the Rover.

She didn't know what to expect. She woke up from her coma two weeks prior and got on a plane as soon as she was discharged. Doctors prescribed months of physio before she travelled, but she didn't have the time. He had already divorced her; her father had been her legal representative throughout the procedures. Thomas didn't know what she did, why she did it - to kill the elephant that would otherwise be forever in their bedroom - and life would go on. She feared the Thomas ship might have already sailed.

She had asked Jeff if Thomas was dating anyone. He didn't know. The man had shut himself off the world again. Jeff then offered to call Thomas ahead, let him know she was coming. She said no. She had to see him eye to eye and not give him a chance to shut her out. Maybe he'd take her, maybe not. Maybe he had someone, it was a risk she'd have to take. She had to try. She was hopeful. After all, he kept paying her medical bills even after the divorce came through. The doctors were adamant that she owed her life to his generosity. She had to say thank you, didn't she? One doesn't thank a multi-million-dollar gift over the phone.

She limped on a cane, her legs were weak, she was stiff from flying and ten months in a hospital bed. She had been recovering her appetite, but she was still very much skin and bones. She had to request wheelchair assistance in all airports.

The cab driver pulled her bag to the door. Here goes nothing. Again.

She walked up to the house; the door was unlocked. It seemed empty, and cold. Brazilian houses didn't have central heating. What for? Ten days of winter each year?

9am. Patrice was probably in school, but Thomas was nowhere around. Then she saw a baby cart, and a baby sleeping. Her heart sunk. He couldn't possibly? Well, he could. This baby. If life went on without her and he found someone else that was fate, she'd take it. It was all her fault. A pile of bad decisions.

A cleaner stepped out of the bedroom area. In broken Portuguese, Linda asked her about Thomas. Na praia, surfando. Volta meio-dia. She pointed at the watch. Back at noon. Who surfed under that weather?

She limped to the guestroom's bathroom, showered, changed into the warmest clothes she had, and stepped out again. The woman was breast feeding the baby. The cleaner brought her baby to work. Miguel was his name. Beautiful name for a boy.

She borrowed a rain coat she saw hanging by the side door, and limped down to the beach, careful to not slip. She'd had her life's share of hospital time.

Thomas was out in the ocean, catching a wave. Her heart skipped a beat. She covered her head with the raincoat, sat down on the sand, cold and wet be damned, this winter was nothing compared to back home. And waited. He wouldn't see her. He was still short-sighted, she remembered. Not as bad as before, but enough to not see her. She watched him for a couple of hours.

She decided he was not a good surfer. He missed too many waves. He fell off waves too early and too often. He was clumsy on the board and took too long to get back behind the surf line. That was ok. Her ex was good at quantum computing, game coding, languages, swimming, fighting. He was a true Count, head of a centuries-old House. He had every right to be bad at surfing.

She also noticed something else. The other surfers, all kids, were deferential to him. They gave him right-of-way, high-fived a lot, laughed with him, chatted. She'd later learn those were poor kids from nearby slums for whom he bought boards and bikes, in exchange for their staying in school and out of trouble.

Eventually he got out of the water and took off the top of his wet suit. Tanned. Lean and toned. Relaxed. Just like she remembered him. He'd have to see her eventually, because she was purposedly on his way. She stood up, wincing, and took tentative steps in his direction. She was drenched and shivering.

He saw her, stopped, frozen. His board fell to the sand. She couldn't read his face.

"Listen to me for five minutes, and then if you don't like what I have to say, I will go. Please?"

But he had already decided that no matter what she had to say, he'd give her all the time in the world.