Hearing my name come out of his mouth like that touched a part of me I thought I’d protected. It briefly tugged at the part of me that remembers promises, lullabies, and the steady, boring comfort of shared mornings.
The clerks instantly perked up, their gazes darting between us, whispers bubbling to the surface again.
I could feel the shop leaning in like an audience waiting for the next scene. It made me want to be anything but the woman they were ready to pick apart.
“See? Didn’t I say her husband treats her well? Look how humble he is in front of her," my coworker murmured again.
I heard their commentary, the chorus of good intentions turning into a sermon I preferred not to attend.
The other one agreed. “Honestly, Angela really makes trouble for nothing. She has such a good life, yet she insists on a divorce. And the child is still so young.”
Still, I did not look at Jonathan.
Instead, I lowered my head and began arranging tins of formula on the shelf.
“I made myself clear yesterday, Jonathan," I replied. "Sign the divorce papers first, then we’ll talk.”
I said it the way you'd hand someone a train ticket—practical, not dramatic. The papers were a closed door I was offering him to walk through or slam.
His shoulders stiffened. He hugged Ethan tighter, then pulled a velvet box from his bag.
Opening it, a delicate glimmer of light spilled out.
He was trying to buy a smile the same way people buy roses—carefully, sincerely, and a bit silly. For a moment, I almost felt manipulated into feeling something I had already decided I couldn't feel.
“Angela, look. This is for you.”
I already knew what he hoped would work. It was written all over his jaw.
Inside was a silver necklace, the pendant a tiny fish-shaped locket.
“You once said you liked handmade silver jewelry. I asked an old craftsman to make this—it took him half a month. I even had Ethan’s name engraved on it. Try it on?”
A handcrafted apology. The artisans he found for me felt like apologies dressed up in pretty things.
Gasps of admiration rose around us.
They breathed for him, as if my acceptance would validate their belief in his efforts.
“Oh my gosh, that’s from Tiffany’s custom line, isn’t it? I heard you have to wait months for a piece like that.”
“Angela, your husband is so thoughtful. A man like this is rare to find. If you ask me, stop making trouble and go home to live well with him.”