Chapter 3

The next morning, I woke up at six-thirty.

I washed up, got dressed, grabbed the project files Charles had sent over the night before, and walked right out the door.

At seven-twenty, James called. "Where are you?"

"At the theater."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"I told you last night. You can set an alarm."

The line went silent for a few seconds. "Where's my gray tie?"

"Second drawer in the closet."

"It's not there."

"Then it's probably out at the dry cleaners."

"Where did you leave my meeting notes?"

"In the study."

"And my coffee?"

I stood in the elevator, watching the numbers drop floor by floor. "James, we're divorced. You can ask your fiancée about those things."

I hung up the phone.

As I walked out of the apartment building, the morning air was a bit crisp. Yet I hadn't felt this clear-headed in a very long time.

*****

When I arrived at the theater, Charles was already waiting in the rehearsal hall.

Though we hadn't seen each other in six years, he took one look at me and handed over the script. He didn't ask about my marriage. He didn't ask about James, either.

"Can your foot hold up?" Charles asked.

"Choreographing won't be a problem," I said.

"What about performing on stage?"

I looked down at my right ankle. "Not for now."

Charles nodded. "Then stay off the stage for now. With Homeward Wings, what matters most isn't who dances. It's who decides where it lands in the end."

I flipped open the script. On the very last page, a line read: [After crossing a thousand mountains, Homeward Wings returns to its old nest.]

My phone suddenly buzzed. Sophie had sent me a photo.

In the picture, she was wearing the same shimmering silver gown from last night, leaning against James' shoulder. The sapphire brooch on her chest sparkled brilliantly under the lights.

Below it was a caption: [Anna, thanks for willingly stepping aside for a hundred days.]

I couldn't take my eyes off the word "willingly." So James had fed her a completely different story.

I forwarded the photo to James. [I stepped aside?]

It took him half an hour to text back. [Sophie needs peace of mind.]

A short text was hardly an explanation.

I stared at the screen, suddenly realizing why he had been so sure of himself all along.

To me, he said Sophie was just going along with the Foster family's arrangements.

To Sophie, he said I had stepped down of my own accord to make way for them.

Both women were fed the easiest story to digest. And he stood in the middle, having to give up absolutely nothing.

On the other side of the rehearsal hall, Charles clapped his hands. "Let's take it from act one."

I put my phone away. "Okay."

Homeward Wings told the story of a wild goose that had been injured and left behind by its flock. It spent the winter by an unfamiliar lake. Once its wing healed, it still followed the old route back to its original nest.

The plot was straightforward. Yet I stared at that final line, "It always comes home in the end," for a long time.

Charles asked, "Is something wrong?"

"The ending feels too convenient."

"How so?"

"Why does it have to go back?"

Charles glanced at me. "The investor called the shots on the first draft. Happy endings sell better."

I shut the script. "Let's block out the early scenes first."

At eleven that morning, James showed up at the theater.

He was wearing the same black shirt from last night, his cuffs slightly wrinkled. Clearly, his morning meeting hadn't gone smoothly.

Charles was testing the stage lights with the crew.

James stood at the doorway, looking far from thrilled. "Come outside for a second."

I didn't budge. "If you have something to say, say it here."

Everyone around us turned to look.

James lowered his voice. "Anna."

Only then did I follow him out to the hallway.

He handed me a cup of coffee. It was from the place I used to go to all the time. "You haven't eaten anything this morning."

"I did."

"You have a sensitive stomach. Don't mess with your health just because you are angry with me."

I didn't take the coffee. "Did you tell Sophie that our divorce is of my own free will?"

James paused for a second. "It was just so she'd play along."

"So you're lying to her, too."

"I wouldn't call it lying." He frowned slightly. "Sophie knows we're getting back together in a hundred days."

"She knows?"

"Of course."

"Then why is she thanking me for stepping aside?"

James sounded annoyed. "How she interprets it doesn't matter. What matters is that after a hundred days, everything will go back to normal."

I looked at him. "James, do you honestly believe that as long as we end up back together, whatever happens in between doesn't count?"

His face darkened slightly. "I haven't touched her."

There it was again. As if as long as he drew that final line, he could still pass for a decent husband.

"What about the brooch?"

James paused. "I just let her wear it for one night."

"When you took it out of the safe, why didn't you tell me?"

"It was always the Fosters' to begin with."

The moment the words left his mouth, he seemed to realize his tone was too harsh, so he softened his voice. "Once the photoshoot wraps up, I'll have her return it."

I nodded. "Okay. Is there anything else?"

James stared at me. "Come home for dinner tonight."

"I have rehearsal."

"You can't dance with that foot."

"I'm the choreographer."

He glanced toward Charles inside the rehearsal hall. "He hasn't reached out to you in six years, and now he suddenly tracks you down. You honestly believe it's only about work?"

"Whatever he's after, it's all in the contract. And what about you?" I asked. "What's your reason for getting publicly engaged to Sophie?"

James' jaw tightened. "That's different."

"How is it different?"

"I'm taking care of family matters."

"Charles and I are working." I looked at him calmly. "You're right, it's completely different."

James was left speechless, pinned down by his own logic. After a beat, he set the coffee down on the windowsill. "I'll have the driver pick you up tonight."

"No need."

"Anna, a hundred days fly by." He said it as if reminding me. Or perhaps as if warning himself. "Don't let things spiral out of control."

I let out a faint laugh. "We already have the divorce certificates in hand. What could possibly be more out of control than that?"

His expression turned icy cold. He turned around and walked away.