“Why did you guys break up again?” Zacks runs his fingers through his cinnamon-colored hair and sweeps it across his forehead. “I mean, you told me that you drifted apart and felt disconnected and all that, but was that it?”

Early in their relationship, when she and Zack dissected their romantic pasts, she kept the details about Roshan vague. And even though her husband’s tone is now curious, not accusatory or jealous, Suhani flinches at the question. “Pretty much. We weren’t right for each other.”

“Why not?” Zack asks.

“There were a lot of things that weren’t compatible. That never were,” she says. “But I was younger, more naïve and willing to put up with bullshit.”

Zack digs into his cilantro corn pancakes. He’s in his go-to weekend outfit of navy-blue T-shirt, gray pants, and charcoal Toms shoes. Being around him always makes her feel relaxed and rooted.

Maybe she should tell him what really happened with Roshan. He would understand.

Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d never look at her the same way again.

Ever since they got together, there were so many times the words lingered on the tip of her tongue and then she held back, convinced it was the wrong moment. But then the days passed, then the years, until it felt too late to tell him at all.

Zack frowns. “Yeah, I get that. I guess I could’ve sworn Natasha said some serious shit went down between you guys.”

“Well, yeah, that’s true. It was a tough relationship in a lot of ways. Too much drama,” Suhani says as she remembers the times she clutched the phone in tears. Roshan made her one of those girls who had to overanalyze every single thing with her friends.

“I bet your parents were happy when they thought you’d end up with a doctor. A Brown doctor.” Zack laughs.

“Trust me, it never would have worked for a lot of reasons,” Suhani says as she remembers the dread that overcame her when she realized Roshan planned to propose. She’d found the round sapphire ring behind one of his anatomy textbooks.

Meg covertly slides the check onto their table and with a polite smile tells them it’s “no rush.”

“Let’s go home and get back in bed,” Suhani suggests.

They grab some pastries from the front of the restaurant for home, get into their silver Lexus, and drive the ten minutes back to their high-rise apartment in Midtown. Atlanta is still ninety degrees even though summer is almost over. Zack cracks the windows until the air-conditioning kicks in. Suhani puts a playlist on Spotify and pictures the rest of the relaxing afternoon unfolding in front of her.

When they’re stopped at the intersection of Tenth Street and Northside Drive, she removes her phone from her black cross-body bag and scrolls to the text. The words are to the point, like the person who sent them.