Aubrey's POV
The Thai restaurant Sarah chose smells like lemongrass and chili oil.
I adjust the thin silk scarf around my neck for the fourth time since sitting down, feeling the fabric brush against the fingerprints Daniel left behind. The dress I chose has a high neckline, but I added the scarf anyway because paranoia has become my constant companion.
Gwen's visit this morning left me rattled in ways I cannot fully articulate.
The certainty in her voice when she said her father would find the lie buried in our story plays on a loop in my mind. And I am grateful beyond measure to be sitting across from Sarah instead of alone in that apartment with my thoughts.
"So I told Tim that if he wants to keep using my label maker, he has to at least pretend to put things back where he found them." Sarah waves her chopsticks for emphasis, her wedding ring catching the light. "Marriage is all about establishing boundaries around office supplies, Aubrey. Remember that."
I laugh, and the sound surprises me with its genuineness. "I will keep that in mind."
"Speaking of which, how are you settling in at Finn's place? Tim mentioned you have been working remotely this week, and I have to admit I was surprised since you seemed so eager to prove yourself at the office."
The lie assembles itself before I have consciously chosen it.
"Finn insisted I take some time to get my bearings after the move, and honestly, the commute from his apartment is different from what I was used to. So I have been mapping out the best routes and figuring out where everything is in the neighborhood."
Sarah nods, accepting this without question, and the guilt of deceiving her settles into my stomach alongside the pad see ew.
She has been nothing but kind to me since we met, and I repay that kindness with fabrications designed to protect a man who does not deserve protection.
"Can I ask you a question that has been bothering me?"
Sarah sets down her chopsticks and leans forward with genuine curiosity in her expression.
"Tim and Finn have been inseparable since freshman year of college. But Tim said he had never actually met you until recently, even though you and Finn were apparently close friends back then. How did you manage to stay off his radar for years?"
The question lands with more weight than she intends. I reach for my water glass and take a long drink, buying time to construct an answer that contains enough truth to feel honest.
"Finn was part of that world where everyone knew everyone." I set the glass down carefully, watching the condensation leave a ring on the wooden table. "And I was a scholarship student working two jobs to cover what the financial aid did not. I suppose I never quite fit into the social circles where Tim would have encountered me."
"That makes sense, actually." Sarah's expression softens with recognition rather than judgment. "I know what you mean. I grew up in a two-bedroom apartment with four siblings and a single mother who worked night shifts at a hospital. College was this strange landscape where everyone seemed to have invisible maps I could not read."
The confession startles me and I study her face, searching for any trace of performative humility, and find only sincerity.
"You seem so comfortable in that world now," I say. "Like you have always belonged there."
"Comfortable is not the same as belonging, though I have learned to stop waiting for someone to tap me on the shoulder and tell me there has been a mistake."
She smiles, and the expression carries the weight of experience.
"But I will say this about Finn and Tim: those two have never once made me feel like an outsider."
The observation settles into my chest and stays there, warm and reassuring in ways I did not expect to need.
We finish our meal with lighter conversation, and Sarah insists on paying because she was the one who suggested Thai. And apparently that creates some kind of obligation I do not fully understand.
Outside the restaurant, the afternoon sun warms my face as we say our goodbyes.
Sarah heads back toward the office with promises to do this again next week, and I begin the walk home with my thoughts already turning toward the conversation I need to have with Finn.
Gwen knows about the pregnancy. Gwen suspects the truth.
By the time I reach Finn's building, my anxiety has built into a pressure behind my ribs that makes breathing difficult. I am pacing the living room when I hear the elevator arrive on our floor.
But the words I have been rehearsing dissolve completely when Finn steps through the door.
He is carrying the largest bouquet of white gardenias I have ever seen, the blooms so full and fragrant that their perfume reaches me from across the room. The sight stops my breath in my chest.
White gardenia has been my favorite flower since I was nineteen years old.
"Since you still wear that perfume I gave you in college," Finn says, his voice low and certain as he crosses the room toward me, "I figured you might still love the same flowers."
The tears arrive hot and immediate, blurring my vision as he places the bouquet in my arms. The petals brush against my chin, soft as silk, and the scent wraps around me like an embrace.
"Finn, I need to tell you that…" He silences me by pressing an envelope into my hands alongside the flowers.
The paper is thick, expensive, marked with a law firm's letterhead in the corner. I open it with trembling fingers. Daniel's signature sprawls across the bottom of the final page, careless and dismissive even in ink.
Divorce is granted. Our marriage is dissolved.
"How did you manage to convince him to sign?"
The question comes out barely above a whisper and Finn does not answer immediately. He lowers himself to one knee on the hardwood floor, and the air leaves my lungs in a rush that makes the room spin.
The afternoon light catches the dust motes floating between us, suspended like witnesses to this moment, and I can hear my own pulse thundering in my ears loudly.
"I have loved you for ten years, Aubrey Novak."
His hazel eyes hold mine, and I notice the flecks of gold near his pupils, the slight tremor in his jaw, the way his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. My heart stutters.
"I have loved you through every moment I thought I had lost you forever, and I will love you through whatever comes next."
He reaches into his pocket and produces a ring in the box. The biggest diamond I have ever seen in my eyes catches the afternoon light streaming through those floor-to-ceiling windows.
Probably bigger than Gwen’s.
"I am not asking you to marry me because of the baby or because of Daniel or because I want to protect you from the consequences of choices we made together. I am asking because you are the only future I have ever wanted, and I refuse to spend another day pretending otherwise."
His voice cracks slightly on the next words, and I watch him gather himself with visible effort.
"Aubrey Novak, will you marry me?"
The gardenias tremble in my arms. The divorce papers crinkle against my chest. The ring glitters with promises I never thought I would be allowed to keep.
My throat burns with the pressure of tears I cannot contain. When I try to speak, the word catches on the sob building behind my ribs.
"Yes," I say, and the word tastes like freedom. "Yes, Finn."
The tears spill over, hot against my cheeks, and his face blurs through the salt water until all I can see is the shape of his smile breaking across his features like dawn.
"A thousand times yes."