Mercifully, the room was empty and everything inside was my own, albeit in tidier condition than I’d left it. The crisp white bed linens had been tucked neatly against the mattress, the kitchenette had been refreshed with clean mugs, and...shit. A vase of beautiful, baby blue hydrangeas sat on the small table near the door.

I pulled the tiny envelope from the center of the flower posy and opened it, hoping it was only an unwitting display of congratulations from one of our parents.

It wasn’t. The inscription was short, but I knew instantly who sent it. I’m sorry, the note began, and I have so much to make up to you, to explain to you. I will love you always. See you soon. J.

I rolled my eyes. James was an intelligent guy; he meant to do damage control in advance of his arrival, pulling whatever strings he could to ensure I at least opened the hotel room door for him. But if he thought we could talk this over in a single morning, then share a couple of mimosas and resume our lovebird itinerary as originally planned, he was sorely mistaken.

I didn’t allow myself to feel guilty about this. I may not have been perfectly happy with our life, but I wasn’t the one who’d thrown it away.

A short while later, I lay on the bed sipping an ice-cold water when there came a knock at the door. I knew instinctively that it was him. I could feel it, just like I could feel the exhilaration in his body when I stood across from him at the altar on our wedding day.

I took a single deep breath and opened the door, unwillingly inhaling the scent of him: the familiar aroma of pine and lemon, subtle remnants of the homemade soap he loved so much. We’d bought it together at an outdoor market a few months ago, in the days when my free time was spent peeking at fertility tips on Pinterest. Things seemed so much easier then.

James stood before me, a charcoal-gray suitcase against his leg. He wasn’t smiling, nor was I, and if an unlucky stranger were to walk by at that very moment, they would have believed it the most awkward, unpleasant reunion they’d ever seen. As we stared dumbly at each other, I realized that, until just a moment ago, part of me didn’t believe he’d actually turn up in London at all.

“Hi,” he whispered sadly, still on the other side of the threshold. Though only an arm’s length separated us, it felt like an ocean.

I opened the door wider and motioned for him to come in, like he was a bellman delivering my luggage. As he rolled in his suitcase, I walked away to refill my glass of water. “You found my room,” I said over my shoulder.