JEFF'S POV
The penthouse echoes with her absence.
It's been a week since the divorce was finalized, and I can't stop seeing Nadia everywhere. Her coffee mug in the sink. Her pillow on the bed. The indent in the couch where she used to curl up and read.
I thought I wanted this. The freedom. The space. The ability to do whatever I wanted without answering to anyone.
Now I'm drowning in it.
My phone rings. Marcus.
"What?" I answer, not bothering with pleasantries.
"Good morning to you too, sunshine."
"It's 6 AM."
"I know. I'm at the office. Your office, specifically, cleaning up your mess."
"Which mess? There are so many to choose from."
"Scarlett. She showed up here twenty minutes ago, making a scene."
I sit up. "What did she want?"
"You, apparently. Security had to escort her out. She's lost it, Jeff."
"She'll calm down."
"Like she calmed down when she sent those flowers to Nadia? Or when she tried to blackmail her with videos?"
The videos. Christ, I'm still sick about that. I had no idea Scarlett was recording anything. The violation of it, not just of me but of Nadia...
"Is the injunction holding?" I ask.
"Yes. But Jeff, you need to get a restraining order."
"Against Scarlett? Come on."
"She's unhinged. She thought you'd come running once Nadia was out of the picture."
"I never promised her anything."
"You never promise anyone anything. That's your problem."
I get out of bed, walking to the window. The city is waking up below. Somewhere out there, Nadia is starting her day without me.
"Have you talked to her?" Marcus asks, his voice softer.
"Who?"
"Don't play dumb. Nadia."
"She won't answer my calls."
"Can you blame her?"
No. I can't. I destroyed everything good between us, and for what? Quick thrills with women who meant nothing?
"Mom says she saw her in Monterey," I say.
"Yeah, Mom also called her ungrateful and tried to guilt her about the money."
"The money she deserved."
"The money you hid from her."
I don't respond. He's right. I'm a bastard.
"Why did you do it?" Marcus asks. "Really? Nadia was perfect."
"That was the problem."
"Her being perfect was a problem?"
"No. Me not being perfect was the problem. She made me feel... inadequate."
"So you cheated on her? How does that make sense?"
It doesn't. Nothing about my behavior makes sense. I had a wife who loved me, who supported me, who tried so hard to make me happy. And I threw it all away.
"I'm an idiot," I say.
"Finally, some self-awareness."
"I want her back."
"Not happening."
"You don't know that."
"Jeff, you had affairs. Plural. You hid money. You let your mistress violate her privacy. There's no coming back from that."
He's right. But I can't accept it.
"I'm going to Monterey," I say.
"Don't."
"I have to see her."
"Jeff, leave her alone. For once in your life, think about what she needs, not what you want."
I hang up on him.
An hour later, I'm driving to Monterey. I know where Rose's beach house is. Nadia dragged me there once, early in our marriage. I complained the entire time about the sand and the small rooms. She never asked to go back.
Another thing I took from her.
The drive gives me too much time to think. About our wedding day, how beautiful she looked. About the miscarriages she suffered while I was sleeping with other women. About the light in her eyes dimming year after year.
I did that. I dimmed her light.
When I get to Monterey, I drive past the beach house. Her car is there, but so is another one. A truck.
I park down the street and walk back. Through the window, I see her on the deck, painting. She's laughing at something, her head thrown back, paint on her cheek.
She looks alive. More alive than I've seen her in years.
A man appears beside her, tall, broad-shouldered. He hands her something - a sandwich maybe - and she smiles at him. A real smile, not the practiced one she gave me toward the end.
A little girl runs into view, pigtails bouncing. She hugs Nadia's legs, and Nadia bends down, listening intently to whatever the child is saying.
This is what I took from her. This easy joy. This lightness.
"Can I help you?"
I turn. The man from the deck stands behind me.
"I... I was just..."
"You're Jeff." It's not a question.
"How did you"
"Nadia described you. Also, you look like a man who's lost something."
"She's my wife."
"Ex-wife."
"Right."
We stand there, sizing each other up. He's younger than me, maybe early thirties. Comfortable in his skin in a way I've never been.
"I'm Nathan," he says. "I live next door."
"You seem close. With Nadia."
"We're friends."
"Friends."
"Is that a problem?"
Yes, I want to say. Everything about this is a problem. This man making my wife - ex-wife - laugh. This easy domesticity I'm watching through a window.
"She's painting again," I say instead.
"She's doing a lot of things again."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means she's remembering who she was before you."
The words hit like a punch.
"You don't know anything about us."
"I know she burned her wedding dress. I know she screams at the ocean. I know she's brilliant and kind and deserves better than a man who cheated on her."
"She told you?"
"She didn't have to. The pain is written all over her."
"Daddy?" The little girl appears. "Who's this?"
"Just someone leaving," Nathan says, not taking his eyes off me.
"Is he bothering you?" she asks, looking at me suspiciously.
"No, sweetheart. Go back to Nadia."
"Okay. But she's teaching me shading and I don't want you to miss it!"
She runs back, and through the window, I watch Nadia lift her onto a stool, placing a brush in her small hand.
"She's good with kids," I say.
"She's good with everyone. When they let her be."
"I should talk to her."
"No, you shouldn't."
"You don't get to—"
"You're right. I don't. But she does. And she's made it clear she doesn't want to talk to you."
"How would you know?"
"Because she hasn't answered your calls. Because she's here instead of there. Because she's finally breathing again."
I want to push past him. To go to her. To make her listen.
But then I see her through the window again. She's guiding the little girl's hand, patient and gentle. The sun catches her hair, and she looks golden. Happy.
"I loved her," I say, not sure why I'm telling this stranger.
"No," Nathan says quietly. "You loved the idea of her. If you'd really loved her, you wouldn't have broken her."
He walks away, back to the house. Back to the life I'm not part of.
I stand there for a long time, watching. Nadia never looks up, never knows I'm there. Eventually, they go inside. I hear laughter, music, the sounds of a life being lived.
My phone rings. Scarlett.
I don't answer.
She calls again. And again.
Finally, I pick up.
"What?"
"Jeffrey, baby, where are you?"
"Don't call me that."
"I've been trying to reach you. We need to talk."
"No, we don't."
"I miss you. I know you miss me too."
"I don't."
"Don't lie. What we had—"
"Was a mistake. Leave me alone, Scarlett."
"You don't mean that."
"I do. And if you come to my office again, I'll have you arrested."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
I hang up and block her number.
Back in my car, I sit for a moment. Through the rearview mirror, I can still see the beach house. See the warm lights, the life inside.
I pull out my phone and text Marcus: "You were right. I'll leave her alone."
His response is immediate: "Good. Now get your life together."
I drive away, but I can't stop thinking about what Nathan said. That I loved the idea of her, not her herself.
He's wrong. I did love Nadia.
I just loved myself more.
And that's why I will make sure she never enjoys life without me in it.