Our penthouse overlooked Elliott Bay, with glass walls that reflected shifting gray skies and slow moving cargo ships, and from the outside we appeared to be the perfect couple attending charity events, hosting elegant dinners, and smiling for magazine features that praised our partnership.
Inside that space, something had been cooling for years without either of us naming it directly.
I did not recognize the fracture until a rainy Tuesday morning that began like any other.
My phone had died overnight, and I needed to confirm a delivery through email, so I used Christopher’s laptop that sat open on the marble kitchen island, and I did not hesitate because there had never been a reason to hesitate before that moment.
The cursor blinked inside a draft email.
The subject line read, Legal Roadmap for Dissolution.
For a brief second, I assumed it referred to one of his business restructures or partnership exits, because those conversations were common in his world and rarely involved me directly.
Then I read the content, and everything shifted into focus with a clarity that removed emotion instead of intensifying it.