The metal zipper teeth locked together with a harsh scrape, sealing the canvas bag shut.
Delphine blinked, retracting her manicured hand from the gap between the seats. "What was that?"
"Just old tax forms," I lied, shoving the bag deeper against my thigh.
"Boring," Delphine muttered. She lost interest instantly, turning back to the dashboard to skip the current song.
Jasper kept his eyes on the winding road. He didn't ask about the paperwork. He didn't ask about anything. He simply tapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the new pop track.
We reached the lake house just as the sun dipped behind the jagged pine trees. Jasper immediately grabbed Delphine's pristine rolling suitcase from the trunk. He left my faded duffel sitting on the gravel.
I hauled my own bag up the wooden steps and claimed the small guest room before anyone could assign it to me.
Sitting on the edge of the stiff mattress, I unlocked my phone. My thumb swiped left, permanently deleting the photo of Jasper blowing out candles with Delphine on our third anniversary, followed by the shot of him holding her hand at the clinic while I was home sick with the flu. The digital trash bin emptied, erasing the dead weight of a relationship I had outgrown months ago.
I opened my files app, tapping the PDF titled 'Brooks-Separation-Agreement'.
I had traced my digital signature on the bottom line exactly seven days before Jasper loaded us into his SUV for this trip.
"Camille?" Jasper’s voice echoed down the short hallway. "Delphine wants to open the wine on the deck. Come out here."
"Give me a minute," I called back.
I locked my screen and shoved the phone into my back pocket. I walked out of the bedroom, bypassing the open kitchen where Jasper was struggling with a corkscrew. I pushed through the screen door onto the back deck.
The evening air carried the scent of pine needles and damp earth. Jonathan stood alone, leaning against the wooden railing. He held a glass of amber liquid, watching the dark ripples on the lake.
"They took the master bedroom," Jonathan stated, not looking back.
"Expected," I replied, joining him at the railing.
He turned his head. His dark eyes scanned my face, searching for a crack in my calm exterior. "You know you belong in the front seat, Camille."
I gripped the rough wood of the railing. "It's just a car ride."
"Don't play dumb with me," Jonathan said, his voice dropping an octave. "It's not just a seat. It's the whole damn relationship. Why do you let him treat you like an afterthought?"
"Jasper is just oblivious," I lied smoothly. "He doesn't mean anything by it."
"Bullshit." Jonathan set his glass down on the railing with a sharp clack. "He spent your entire anniversary dinner texting Delphine. I watched him do it."
I crossed my arms over my chest. "You were paying very close attention."
"Someone had to." He took a step toward me. "When you had the flu last month, he left you alone in that apartment to go help Delphine pick out curtains. You think I didn't notice?"
"Why do you care, Jonathan?"
"Because you deserve better," he shot back. "You sit in the back. You carry your own bags. You shrink yourself down so she can take up all the oxygen in the room. Why do you endure it?"
I stared up at him. The sheer weight of his attention pinned me in place.
For three entire years, Jasper hadn't truly looked at me. He looked past me, or through me, or toward whatever Delphine needed. Yet here was Jonathan, dissecting my reality with ruthless precision. He didn't view me as a convenient accessory. He saw exactly what I was hiding.
The cold, calculated armor I had worn for months suddenly felt incredibly heavy.
"Sometimes," I started, my voice barely above a whisper, "you stay until you have everything lined up to leave."
Jonathan's jaw tightened. "So you're actually planning to walk away?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
He reached out. His fingers brushed a stray lock of hair away from my cheek. The touch was free of the aggression from the hallway kiss. It was gentle, almost reverent.
"You are too smart to be taking his scraps, Camille," Jonathan murmured.
I stepped back, startled by the sudden warmth pooling in my chest. The abrupt movement shifted the fabric of my jeans.
My phone slipped from my shallow back pocket.
It hit the wooden deck with a sharp clatter. The impact jarred the device awake.
We both reached down. Jonathan got there first. His large hand scooped up the phone from the wooden planks. The screen brightness was turned all the way up, illuminating the dark deck.
"Give it back," I demanded, holding my hand out.
Jonathan didn't move. His gaze dropped to the glowing screen. The bold black letters at the top of the open PDF glared in the twilight.
Brooks-Separation-Agreement.
Status: Signed.
The silence on the deck thickened, heavy enough to choke on. Jonathan's thumb hovered over the edge of the device. Slowly, he raised his head, his dark eyes locking directly onto mine.
