The Bahamian house is for sale. If it is like its pictures, if it makes her eyes light up and her mouth curve, I will buy it. I will buy it and spend two months showing her the life that could be forever.

I don’t need the courthouse. I don’t need the fight. I don’t need my family. I sure as hell don’t need a town full of exes. Saffire brings in seven figures a year; we can live like kings without working. Assuming my fabulous wife doesn’t mind sharing the earnings of her company. And if she wants that law degree, we can spend nine months a year at the university of her choosing. Let her study until her eyes cramp, and debate until her voice is hoarse. Fuck, I’ll hang a shingle in Nassau if that’s what she wants. Or Miami. Or Colorado. Anywhere. I am untied. I have no bearings. She is my sun, and everything else is bullshit. I love so few people in my life. I need only one. Her.

I hope she never knows how vulnerable I am. It is terrifying to me. I hate it—hate how much I love her. I never planned for this. I wanted a companion, and instead turned over my entire heart. I hope she is not too young. I hope she doesn’t crush me.