The villa gates swung open as I pulled in. Seraphine sat beside me, baby in her arms, smiling like she had just won the lottery. The kid was asleep, tiny fists curled against her chest. I had one arm full of sunflowers for Elara, the other cradling two bouquets of red roses for Seraphine.
“You bought too many,” Seraphine said in that soft, almost shy voice she liked to use with me. “Elara might think you are overcompensating.”
“She asked for a sunflower,” I said. “She’ll get sunflowers. You get the roses. Fair is fair.”
Seraphine’s cheeks flushed. “You’re spoiling me again. You know I don’t need flowers to be happy. Just… you.”
I pushed the door open and stepped into the villa. Quiet. Too quiet.
“Elara?” I called out, expecting her to appear from the kitchen or the stairs. No answer.
Seraphine followed me in, rocking the baby. “Maybe she’s sleeping?”
“She wouldn’t sleep this early.” I walked toward the living room and stopped dead.
The front door was ajar. On the frame sat an envelope. I set the flowers down on the console and picked it up.
“Throw this away,” I said, holding it out to the maid.
She took it, but her hand froze. Her voice wavered. “Mr. Whitmore… it’s… it’s a divorce paper.”