Charlotte Pickles perched on the edge of the stylish leather sofa with her arms crossed and a dour expression on her face. It was Saturday afternoon and warm summer sunshine streamed through the front window, bathing the floor in brillant golden hues. Outside, kids rode bikes up and down the sidewalks and little girls in ribbons and white dresses skipped rope. An expensive sports car with the top down sped by in the street, bouncy pop music blaring from the speakers, and across the way, a man in shorts and a pink Izod lovingly washed the flanks of his Bently with a cloth. The scene was a perfect snapshot of suburban bliss and normally she took it in the way a nature lover would majestic panorama of mountains and valleys, but today she was blind to it all.

Last week, she came home from work to find her husband Drew gone. He left a note behind saying he needed a break. Things had been rocky between them for the past few months dand they reached a boiling point the previous Thursday. She stayed late at the office because she was up against a deadline and needed to get MergeCorp's tax work done, he was upset that he had to do "everything" at home (boo hoo, my daughter needs dinner and a bath), and they got into a fight. She threatened to leave him and he called her bluff by leaving her first.

Then...the very next day…

She quashed that thought before it could form. Something happened and she didn't know how to feel about it, hadn't known this entire time. Finding Drew gone, she panicked. She was normally calm, cool, and collected, but that night, she broke down. She broke down because her life was ruined, because she saw no way to fix it...and because for better or worse, she no longer loved her husband.

When did she stop? That question haunted her through the long, sleepless night. She went back over their life together from the first day they laid eyes on each other to the moment she left for work that ill-fated morning, and no matter how hard she tried to pinpoint the exact moment she fell out of love with Drew, she couldn't. She didn't think there even was a single moment. It was a gradual process that didn't reach its conclusion until she found herself confronted with the very real possibility of their marriage failing. She blamed herself, she blamed Drew, she blamed MergeCorp, she blamed everything she could think of, and then she blamed the rain because someone in a song once told her to. People need something to scapegoat, they need something they can point at and fault for the things going wrong in their life. Charlotte Pickles was no different and she latched onto anything and everything, but deep down, she didn't think there was any one reason. It wasn't wholly her fault, or Drew's, it just...happened, the way things sometimes do.

Admitting that wasn't easy and it didn't give her the sense of closure that blaming something tangible may have, but it was the truth. Hers and Drew's marriage died not from a killing blow struck by him, her, or God, it slowly bled out from a thousand little cuts.

Then...the very next day…

She inhaled through flaring nostrils and tapped one foot restively against the floor. There was no point in hiding from it, was there? The day after she came home to an empty house, she had sex with Jonathan, her aisstant. It wasn't planned, she had never looked at him in that way before, it just happened. She was confused and emotionally vulnerable and when he started to massage her shoulders, the stress and tension of the previous weeks and months got the better of her.

Since it happened, she'd been sick with guilt, both because she cheated on her husband and because she enjoyed it. Jonathan touched and looked at her in a way that Drew hadn't in years. She felt wanted, desired, needed, and she had forgotten just how much being the center of someone's passion meant to her. When she and Drew were younger, before MergeCorp and Angellica, before they both worked late and rarely got to see each other, they were each other's universe. She never had to wonder how he felt because she could see it in his eyes. When he held her, stroked her cheek, and kissed her, she could feel his love like power thrumming through a high tension wire.

Somewhere along the long, broken road of life, he stopped looking at her that way. His random kisses and hugs-from-behind came fewer and farther between until one day, they stopped altogether.

But he didn't bear all the responsibility. She got so wrapped up in helming MergeCorp that she, too, failed to pay their marriage the attention it deserved. She didn't give him hugs or kisses out of the blue either, They both got lost in the shadowy corridors of life - they started together, holding hands, but they somehow got separated.

Understanding that a problem exists and admissing that it exists are the first two steps to solving it, but Charlotte wasn't sure she wanted to solve it. She was in her late thirties and the thought of being single excited her. She had fallen into an inalterable routine, her life planned down to the very second and no day different from any other. If she was honest with herself, she would say she had grown bored. Familiarity breeds contempt, they say, and while she never thought she would hold her life in contempt, the thought of going back to the same old thing - same schedule, same places, same Bat time, same Bat channel - filled her with apprehension.

She didn't want to throw her marriage away...but she didn't want it anymore. She didn't want MergeCorp anymore either. As horrible as it may sound, hitherto her life had been a long, dark winter, and the day Drew left was the beginning of spring. She had done a lot of thinking, agonizing, and soul-searching in the days since, and she realized just how much she needed a change.

Three days ago, Drew called her on the phone to say he was coming home Saturday. We need to talk, he said, and it took everything Charlotte had to keep from asking him for a divorce. If it was just her, she would have, but it wasn't just her.

She had Angellica to think of.

A lot of things had changed lately, but dedication to her daughter was not one of them. Angellica was, and would always be, the center of her world; she would always come first, and it was for her sake that she agreed to talk to Drew.

If they could work things out, she would go back to him, even if it meant not being happy. She would stay married to Drew, she would stay on as CEO of MergeCorp, she would continue on as she had for the past sixteen years because it was right for her little girl. Once Angellica was grown and off to college, then Charlotte would think about her next step. Who knew? Maybe by then all of this will have blown over. She was heading into her forties, after all, and people her age sometimes chafe. Maybe all of this was just the stirrings of a midlife crisis.

Or maybe it was something else.

She couldn't say, she was turned around and tied into knots, and the last seven days had been a strange and emotional period of shame and uncertainty. She was never unsure of herself, and that she was now, when she needed to be confident and self-assured the most, frustrated her greatly.

Then there was the matter of what happened with Jonathan.

Her stomach twisted.

She didn't regret it for a second, and she had thought back to it more times than she cared to admit. Remembering the gentle brush of his hands over her breasts and the urgent flutter of his lips along her neck sent shivers down her spine, and if she allowed herself to dwell on them, she would get turned on like a horny teenage girl, something to which she was not accstomed; her sex drive wasn't what it used to be and she sometimes went days or weeks without so much as thinking about it. Recalling her time with Jonathan, however, turned her into a blushing, sputtering mess. Last night, during dinner, she sat at the table and stared off into space, memories of Jonathan swirling through her head. She only came out of her reprieve when a chicken nugget hit her in the face. "Mommy," Angellica glared, "why are you ignoring me?"

In bed, she clutched Drew's pillow and drifted back to the love she and Jonathan made here. How many times did they do it that night? Five? Six? Each joining was more incredible than the last, but what she found herself going back to again and again was the cuddling afterwards. In the old days, Drew would hold her in his arms after sex and they would talk, sometimes for hours, but lately, when they got around to making love, he would instantly roll off and go into the bathroom, and she would feel inexplicably dirty afterwards, as though she had been used. In-between bouts of sex, Jonathan cradled her the way Drew once had, and she was so drunk on his attention that she giggled like a schoolgirl. On those fitful nights following their parting, she yearned for his touch, and she almost broke down and called him, but she stayed firm. She had so much to deal with right now that she didn't need that on top of it.

Astute as ever, Jonathan sensed this and hadn't brought it up. She never caught him stealing looks at her, and when he was in the room, there was no tension, no strange new gravity between them. They carried on as they always had - she the high-strung and demanding captain and he the placid and indispensable first mate - and if Charlotte really wanted to, she could almost convince herself that their coupling had only been a beautiful dream.

She didn't.

She didn't know what she wanted. She wanted to do what was right by her daughter and staying with Drew was the right thing.

Wasn't it? What if they never found the love they had lost? What if they went on arguing and making each other unhappy? Was that kind of environment healthy for Angellica? You can fake a lot of things, but you can't fake love and happiness. Both must spring organically from the heart.

What was she to do, though? Throw away her marriage and break her family up because she was bored with her life? She had been with Drew almost twenty years. She stood in front of God and everyone and swore to love and honor him until she died. Maybe she was old fashioned, but marriage isn't something you go into lightly and it's not something you dispose of just because it becomes difficult or inconvenient.

She had told herself that a thousand times since the night Drew left. A marriage is something worth fighting and suffering for, the father of your daughter is worth fighting and suffering for.

Only she didn't want to suffer, she wanted to be happy. Was that really so selfish? To want happiness?

Yes, if it negatively affects your family, it is. In life, there are things more important than your own gratification, and the well-being of your family is the most important one. No one today wants to hear this, but you are not the center of the universe. You are not perfect the way you are. You are a flawed human being with bad habits. Modern society tells people (especially women) that they are beyond reproach and that they should always put themselves first. If you aren't happy with your husband, dump him; if your friends and family don't praise the bad decisions you stumble blindly into, cut ties with them, you don't need that kind of negativity, honey. Women and girls are exhorted to dress like whores, post half-naked pictures of themselves on Facebook, and to sleep around, and then are shocked when people don't respect them. Live how you want to live and do whatever feels good were the rules of the day and people abided by those laws fanatically. Charlotte knew better. Angelica's needs took precedence over her own.

Part of her hoped she and Drew could pick up where they left off, and another part hoped he didn't come, that way she could move on.

To what she didn't know. This life - the house next to Stu and DeeDee's and her position at MergeCorp - was the only one she had ever aspired to. She studied for this, trained for this, worked so hard she perspired blood for this, it was the only life she knew how to lead. If she gave it up, what would she do? How would she make it as a single mother? She had well over 100,000 dollars in her savings account. That would be enough for them to live on for a little while. But what came next? She'd need a job, and unless she went back to waiting tables like she did in college, it'd be a job very much like the one she already had...if she was lucky.

Sigh. Might as welll just stay at MergeCorp. The house was in both hers and Drew's names, but divorce proceedings usually favor the woman, so she'd likely end up with it. She wouldn't go after him for alimony but she would child support, unless they could make an arrangement on their own.

Her foot froze and a bitter frown touched the corners of her mouth. Listen to her, acting like her and Drew breaking up was a foregone conclusion. It absolutely was not. She was willing to work on things if he was. She wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect, but that didn't matter.

She leaned over, picked her phone up from the coffee table, and checked to see if he had texted. He hadn't: The last thing he sent was a brief message telling her he was on his way. That was fifteen minutes ago. She had no idea where he had been this entire time but she assumed it was somewhere fairly close so he could still commute to work. She pictured him putting up at a nice hotel downtown. He hadn't withdrawn any money from their joint bank account, so she didn't know for sure. Stu talked to him on the phone, but Drew didn't tell him where he was or what he was doing. Stu was furious with him and accused him of walking out on his family. Fuck you, Stu, Drew said and hung up on him. They hadn't talked since.

Sitting the phone in her lap, she gazed out the window. She had a clear view of the street and the driveway. When he pulled up, she would know.

She took a deep breath, her lungs refusing to expand, and she exhaled in a hitching rush. She had faced down a lot in her life - especially during climb to the top of the corporate ladder - but nothing, nothing, was more intimidating than this. Her heart jagged an anxious pattern against her ribcage and her stomach churned like cold, gray waters; her dry throat bobbed up and down and her fingers drummed restlessly on her knee. She closed her hand in a weak fist and swallowed around a wad of nerves. She ran her fingers through her hair and crossed her legs.

Earlier, she took Angellica over to Stu and DeeDee's. She didn't tell her Drew was coming home. So far, she had been telling her that he was out of town on business. She was used to him coming and going but Charlotte imagined she could sense that something was different this time. She kept asking about him and telling Charlotte that she missed him. Is Daddy really coming home? she asked several times. Charlotte assured her that he was, even though she didn't know. But what else could she say? The truth?

A sardonic laugh burst from her lips. The truth is a messy thing sometimes. Like the truth of what she did with Jonathan. Could she bring herself to tell Drew? Should she? She concentrated so much on Drew and his transgressions but she had done something equally as bad, if not worse. Oh, she might not regret it, but that didn't change the fact that as soon as her husband walked out the door, she jumped in bed with another man. She could make excuses and justify what they did all she wanted - she could say it was beautiful and made her feel like she hadn't in years - but the fact remained that she cheated on her husband. Even worse was that that fact didn't disturb her. Wasn't that awful? She slept with another man in hers and Drew's marriage bed, the bed in which Angellica was conceived, and she wasn't the least bit remorseful. She cherished her night with Jonathan and given enough time, she would falter and do it again.

Just a week ago, she suspected Drew of cheating on her. Maybe he had, maybe he hadn't, but she had. She was unfaithful and betrayed her wedding vows.

That did disquiet her...but only a little.

Sentimentality aside, she committed adultery, and if she and Drew were going to stay together, she needed to address it.

A quiver of dread rippled through her stomach.

Drew deserved to know, but telling him would likely kill any chances they had of reconciling. Taking a step back, what she did was objectively worse than what Drew did. There were no two ways about it, and if he found out and decided to leave her, well...could she really blame him?

She couldn't tell him.

She would keep it a secret. He never had to know.

And even if she became unhappy in the future, it would never happen again.

How would Jonathan take it?

They hadn't talked about what happened between them but eventually they would have to. He needed to understand that she was emotionally compromised and not thinking clearly that night. She didn't want to hurt him any more than she wanted to hurt Drew...maybe even less than she wanted to hurt Drew...but it absolutely couldn't continue. They could go back to being friends but they couldn't be anything more. Ever.

Her stomach turned.

Since that night, she couldn't get him off her mind, and there had been times over the past week that the urge to hug him or touch his hand rushed over her. When he came into her office, her heart skipped a staggering beat and her stomach tingled in that peculiar, adolescent way she hadn't known since she was a girl. He didn't steal looks at her, but she stole looks at him. How had she never realized how handsome he was? His eyes were the lightest shade of blue and his lips were pouty and kissable - she hated that word because it was a non-descriptor, but it was the only one that came to mind. Every time she sneaked a sidelong glance at him, she envisioned his surprisingly chiseled chest and toned stomach and she started to melt. Thinking of Drew's body had never turned her on the way thinking of Jonathan's did, not even when they were young and couldn't keep their hands off each other.

She believed Jonathan was capable of letting go…

...but was she?

She blew a deep sigh. She'd have to be. She couldn't carry out an affair behind her husband's back. God, that was disgusting. Drew didn't deserve that. No one did. It happening once was bad enough, but again and again? Sneaking off to be with another man while Drew stayed home and took care of their daughter, completely unaware? A shiver went down her spine and she unconsciously shook her head in denial.

Of course, she was getting ahead of herself and had been this entire time. The future hinged on what Drew had to say. If he wanted to work on things, they would; if he didn't, she wouldn't fight to stay in a broken marriage.

Her phone buzzed in her lap, and she jumped. She snatched it up and looked at the screen. Just a severe thunderstorm watch alert. She sighed, dropped the phone onto the cushion next to her, and sat back. She crossed her arms and legs and tried to relax. She jittered one foot and tried to brace herself for what was to come.

Movement flickered in the corner of her eye and she turned to the window just as an unfamiliar sports car pulled into the driveway. She blinked in surprise, and her confusion deepened when Drew got out.

The moment of truth was here.

That realization threw her system into chaos. Every muscle in her body tensed and she darted her eyes around the room like a trapped animal searching for some means of escape from an advancing predator. She wasn't ready for this, wasn't ready to determine the course of her future. She needed time,

Drew came up the walk, and Charlotte jumped to her feet. She smoothed the front of her skirt. Should she sit down? Stand up? Meet him at the door? Pretend not to notice he was here?

His key rattled in the lock, and she dropped to her butt. She grabbed her phone and busied herself looking at the screen. The door opened and Drew came in. She shot him a quick glance: He wore a baby blue polo tucked into tan pants and dark clip on sunglasses. The air squeezed from Charlotte's lungs like toothpaste from a tube and she darted her eyes back to her phone. Should she say something or wait for him?

What kind of question was that? She was Charlotte Pickles, she took the initiative the way Charlie Sheen took drugs. You could use many, many words to describe her, but 'timid' wasn't one of them. She had faced down hostile takeovers, hardcase clients, and the hardest corporate lawyers this side of a John Grisham novel. She never faltered, never backed down, and never questioned herself. She charged headlong into every deal because slowing down and second guessing yourself is how you fall. She stumbled here and there, but she never lost her footing and she always came out on top. She was not timid, she was not meek, she was not retiring.

Yet here she was, frozen in indecision, her heart blasting so hard it sent shockwaves radiating through her body and a lump lodged in her throat. Her back stiffened, her palms began to sweat, and a light, feverish flush spread across her face.

She didn't know she was going to speak until she heard the shaky sound of her own voice. "Hey."

"Hey," Drew said crisply. He sounded as uncomfortable as she felt, and while that should have been some consolation, it wasn't. He moseyed reluctantly into the living room like a man to a root canal, and Charlotte forced herself to look up at him. His head was down, as if in contemplation, and his hands rested on his hips. Tension rolled off of him in sickening waves, and Charlotte swallowed thickly.

He drew a burdened breath but didn't meet her eyes. "How're you doing?"

That question - and the tone he asked it in - struck her as so trivial that her head spun. That was something you asked a coworker at the water cooler, or your neighbor over the back fence, not your wife...not under these circumstances.

"Fine," she said.

"How's Angellica?"

"She's okay."

During his absence, he phoned thrice to speak with Angellica. He said little on these calls, and Charlotte said even less to him. Every time she hung up, her head was spinning. Had it really come to this? Them barely speaking? Even now, a week later, it was so surreal that she could barely believe it was actually happening.

For a long moment, they stewed in awkward silence, then Drew sighed. He opened his mouth, wavered, then forged ahead anyway. "I've been thinking a lot and...I think we should get a divorce."

Those words hit Charlotte like a blow to the stomach. She half expected to hear them, perhaps even wanted to hear them, but they managed to catch her off guard anyway.

Did she hear him right? Did he really say they should divorce?

She opened her mouth to reply, but didn't know how. She told herself that she wouldn't fight to save a failed marriage, but that was then. She knew this would be a likely outcome but it was only a vague and indistinct possibility, like death. We all know we are going to die and many of us prepare for its eventual advent, but it's something that's always in the future, always on the horizon, and when it finally rushes forward to meet us, we realize that we weren't as ready as we thought were. "A-A-A divorce?" she asked, choking on the first word.

"Neither one of us are happy," Drew said quickly, not giving her a chance to continue. "And we haven't been in a long time."

Her first instinct was to argue, but she couldn't because he was right. In hindsight, she hadn't been satisfied with her marriage for months, maybe even longer. She let out a heavy sigh and brushed her fingers through her hair. This was it. Her marriage was through and her daughter would grow up in a broken home.

Inexplicable tears welled in her eyes and she hurriedly blinked them away. Panic began to creep in like biting cold, and she started to hyperventilate. "W-We can't just divorce," she said, "what about Angellica?"

"What's the point in staying together and making each other miserable?" he asked. "Making her miserable? We can still raise her together."

A humorless laugh disgorged from her throat. "Together?"

"You know what I mean," Drew said. "I'm still going to be in her life. That won't change."

"A lot's going to change," Charlotte said. "A-A lot. She needs us together, even if we don't love each other. She needs us to stick it out. We can work on this. We can get counselling o-o-or take a vacation or something."

She was rambling, a note of wild-eyed desperation in her voice, but she didn't care. For all of her bravado earlier, she wasn't ready to let go. Not because she loved Drew, which she didn't think she did, but because of their little girl...and maybe, just maybe, because the freedom she so yearned for wasn't as attractive as she at first believed.

"There's no fixing it," Drew said, "we -"

"We can fix it," she said, "we can do something, Drew, we don't even have to sleep in the same bed, we -"

"Stop," Drew said, "there's nothing we can do, Charlotte. Separating would be best for all of us."

"No, it won't," she countered, "why? Why do you want to throw away our family? What did I do? I never meant -"

"Stop," he said again, more sharply this time. His expression had gone cold and his cheeks blazed with annoyance. "Charlotte, just listen to me -"

"Tell me what's wrong," she pressed, cutting him off. "Let's talk about this first. D-Don't just rush in. Talk to me, Drew."

"There's nothing to talk about," Drew said tightly.

"Yes there is," Charlotte flashed, "our family, Drew, our daughter, are you saying -?"

"There's someone else."

His face was beet red now and his jaw clenched. There was something in his eyes...something like shame.

Charlotte blinked as if struck. "What?"

He exhaled through his nose. "I've been seeing another woman. For about a year."

The world seemed to slow to a crawl and the roar of blood pounding against her temples echoed through the chambers of Charlotte's skull.

When he spoke again, her stomach flipped.

"And she's pregnant."

Drew's revelation ricocheted in her skull like a killing bullet, each ping of its steely tip pinging on bone producing words. Another woman. A year. Pregnant. Someone else. On each pass, they grew louder, more hateful.

He cheated on her.

For a year.

All those business trips...all those nights he came home late from the office...all the times Angellica waited up for her to tuck her in and tell her a bedtime story, her hope slowly waning as time ticked away and then falling asleep with a wounded look of disappointment on her face...all the nights Charlotte laid alone in bed, craving his touch as a flower craves sunlight…and he was screwing another woman.

Impregnating her.

Now he was dropping them for her.

Just like the selfish bastard he was,

Scalding fury shot up in Charlotte's chest and her vision strained, turning gray at the edges. "You son of a bitch," she charged in a low, rattling hiss. "You son of a bitch."

A sad, melancholy frown touched Drew's mouth. He looked like a little boy who had let down someone very important to him.

Charlotte barely noticed, and didn't care. Rage drove her to her feet, her lungs heaving for air and a mad glint in her eyes. "You bastard, you fucking no-good SHIT!"

"I'm sorry, Charlotte," he said. There was a rueful note in his voice, as though he legitimately regretted what he had done. "I really am. I didn't plan it, it just...happened."

Way in the back of her mind, a tiny voice urged restraint. After all, hadn't she done the very same thng? Didn't she bring a man into their wedding bed and give him what was rightfully Drew's?

No, she hadn't. Drew cheated on her for a year. He was unfaithful and hid it from her again and again. She swore that she would never be with Jonathan again and she meant it. She was willing to work on things, she was willing to stay with Drew, for Angelica's sake, even if she hated his guts. But he wanted a divorce...he wanted to throw them away and go be with his new family. He was thinking only of himself. She was thinking of their daughter. Therefore his indiscretion was the worst of the two. "Just happened?" she demanded. "So it just happened for a year? It just kept happening? You kept happening to fall dick first into some floozy?'

Drew sighed. "Can we please not do this?"

"Not do this? Not do what, Drew? You tell me you've been cheating on me for a year and hat you're gonna leave your daughter -"

"I'm not leaving my daughter," Drew said through his teeth.

His evident anger infuriated her. How dare he get mad? How DARE he? He came home to her with the stink of another woman on his skin, he left Angellica waiting to spend time with her daddy so he could go get his dick wet. Scummy bastard, stupid shit, goddamn motherfucking dirtball piece of slime. "YOU AlREADY HAVE!" she screamed. "Where were you this week, Drew? Huh? Where were you when our daughter wanted you to tuck her in? Where were you when I had to work late and Angellica had to spend the night with your brother? He's more of a father than you'll ever be. He's more of a MAN than you'll be, Drew, I should have married him!"

None of those things were necessarily true, but they exploded from her lips anyway, each word like a puff of oxygen fanning the flames in her breast. She bent at the waist, shaking with rage, and balled her hands into fists. Drew's face darkened and a hateful sneer twisted his lips. "I'm not getting into this, Charlotte, I've dealt with enough from you."

"FUCK YOU!" Charlotte yelled. "BASTARD! GET OUT! GO BACK TO YOUR WHORE!"

Drew's eyes flashed and for a moment, Charlotte thought he was going to hit her. Instead, he turned and stalked to the door. Charlotte followed, swept along by a tide of wrath. He wasn't even standing up to her, he wasn't even trying. That proved he didn't care about her or Angellica. You fight for something you love, no matter the cost, but he was running away with his tail tucked between his legs. "Aren't you even going to see your daughter, you piece of shit?" she hounded. "She's been asking for you."

"Fuck you," Drew said over his shoulder. He opened the door and went out onto the porch.

"That's right, you faggot, run away."

He spun on her. "SHUT UP, BITCH."

Pressure swelled in Charlotte's skull and before she could stop herself, she launched herself at him. A look of surprise flickered across his face and he cried out. Her fists pummeled his chest in a crazed flurry, and he threw up his arms to defend himself. He stumbled back, then, in a flash, someone was between them. "Stop it," Jonathan commanded. "Charlotte, stop."

She was too far gone to heed his call. She lunged at Drew, but Jonathan pushed her back. "Charlotte, stop it!"

"You fucking bastard," she spat. "You piece of shit, fuck you."

Drew stood there, a dumb expression on his face that made Charlotte all the madder. He looked at her like she was crazy. "You bastard, go back to your slut."

He blinked as if coming awake from a trance, then turned and scurried away. She went to give chase, but Jonathan stepped into her path and put his hands on her shoulders. "Charlotte, calm down."

She ignored him. "I hope she gives you dick rot!" she called. Drew slipped in behind the wheel, started the engine, and backed into the street. Charlotte flipped him off.

When he was gone, Charlotte sucked great gulps of air and trembled as if with cold. "Relax," Jonathan soothed, "calm down and get a grip, it's alright."

"No it's not," she said, "it's not alright. It's so far from alright it's not even funny."

Shushing her, Jonathan took her by the arm and led her inside, closing the door behind him. Her anger evaporated as quickly as it had come, and she allowed him to guide her to the couch. She sat and instantly wrapped her arms around her chest in a futile attempt to stave off the cold in her bones. "How about some coffee?" Jonathan asked kindly. "You look like you could use some coffee."

"Kitchen," was all Charlotte could manage.

"I'll make us a pot," he said.

He went into the kitchen, leaving Charlotte alone, and she hugged herself tightly.

A year. Drew had been seeing someone else for a year. She fought to get her head around that revelation but couldn't. Things were fine a year ago. Not perfect, but much better than they were in the end. He annoyed her now and then but it wasn't serious, it wasn't...it wasn't anything major. Married couples get on each other's nerves sometimes. It's a natural part of living with someone. She didn't understand...couldn't comprehend.

Now the way Drew had been acting made sense. He was angry at her for working late because that meant he couldn't see his little girlfriend. How many times had Charlotte's work schedule gotten in the way of that? How many nights did he positively fume because he had to stay home and take care of their daughter while he really wanted to be somewhere else...with someone else?

She shuddered. Why did she feel so stupid? Why did she feel so violated?

Momentarily, Jonathan came in from the kitchen with two cups of coffee. He sat next to her and she took one with both hands. It trembled in her grasp and burned her lips, but she didn't care. She was cold, numb, and on the verge of breaking down. She didn't care about anything.

"Tell me what happened," Jonathan said.

She stared down into the contents of her mug and blinked back tears. She told him everything, and he listened with a solicitous frown. Halfway through, he took her hand and gave it a light, reassuring squeeze. A lump of emotion welled in her throat and she pressed her quivering lips together to keep from crying. "So it's over," she said with a miserable hitch. She blotted her eyes with the heel of her palm and sniffled. "He doesn't want me or Angellica anymore."

As soon as the meaning of those words registered in her trauma fogged brain, the dam burst wide and she began to sob. Jonathan took her into his arms and she melted gratefully into him. "It's alright," he said and stroked her hair. "It's alright, Charlotte. Everything's going to be okay. I know it seems bad now, but it'll get better."

"How?" she moaned.

"Some way," he said in a tone that indicated he didn't have an answer. "Somehow."

She rested her head on his chest and stared into space, the wheels and cogs in her head turning but producing no coherent thoughts. The lights were on, as they say, but nobody was home. Jonathan's fingers brushed through her hair, and the gentle motions lulled her. Mental and emotional exhaustion came over her and, warm and cozy in Jonathan's embrace, she fell asleep.

You need a vacation, Jonathan had said. They were lying in bed that first night after having sex. Angellica was staying with Stu and DeeDee and they were alone in the house. It was after dusk and the room was dark, the only illumination coming from the moonlight streaming through the window.

She was cradled in his arms and sleepy, mind sluggish, body tingling. They made love three times that evening and she was in a pleasant state of physical and mental langor where nothing seemed as bad as it had before. I don't know, she replied thickly, I can't really afford to.

You need to afford it, he urged, you have to take care of yourself.

That admonishment followed her into sleep and rang through her head for the next week. On Tuesday, Drew served with divorce papers, and on Wednesday, she met him so that he could spend a few hours with Angellica. The air was icy between them and they didn't speak. Charlotte was hurt, angry, and disgusted...with both him and herself.

Friday, she made up her mind. Jonathan was right. She needed some time off. I'll handle everything, he grinned.

Nearly a month later, the two of them flew to Miami and boarded the Crown of the Sea, the largest and most luxurious passage liner afloat, for a six day, seven night cruise through the Caribbean. When Charlotte first saw it tethered to the pier, she was bowled over by how big it was: 24 stories and 1,200 feet long, it rose over the dock like a modern day Colossus, one deck stacked upon another in a teetering heap and large outbuildings dotting the top of the superstructure. Their cabin was spacious and tastefully appointed with a wide bed, desk, wingback chair, and loft accessible by a narrow staircase. A sliding glass door led to a private balcony on starboard and a master bath opened off the foyer, the tub so big it was almost a pool. "Oh my God," she marveled, "Jonathan, this is beautiful."

He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and kissed the side of her neck. "Just like you," he said.

Charlotte blushed and giggled like a girl. "Oh, stop it," she said. "Brown nosing will get you nowhere."

He laughed. "It's worked so far. If I hadn't kissed your ass I'd still be in the mailroom."

Charlotte smiled and pressed her cheek to his. "Okay," she allowed, "maybe it'll get you somewhere."

After putting their things away, Charlotte led Jonathan on an aimless tour of the ship, pulling him by the hand like an excited girl. They followed corridors and passageways, climbed staircases, explored public rooms below decks and gift shops topside; they ate lunch at a restaurant on the poop deck where the waiters dressed like pirates and all the dishes were named with nautical theme; they got hopelessly lost in the bowels of the ship and wandered around for an hour, laughing at their own stupidity and faulty sense of direction; they swam in the pool and took in a show at the onboard theater. Afterwards, they strolled the promenade deck and wound up at the stern, where a giant roller coaster looped around the massive red and blue exhaust port and jutted out 250 feet over the water. The delighted scream of thrillseekers seasoned the salty air and the clack of the cars' metal wheels on the track filled Charlotte's ears.

"Would you like to ride the roller coaster?" Jonathan asked.

Charlotte winced. "Uh...no, yeah, I don't like the being over open sea part."

His eyes twinkled with boyish mischief. "Oh, come on, do be a chicken."

"I am not a chicken," she said, "I just don't like the thought of being suspended a thousand feet over the water on a speeding cart. What if the track breaks?"

A devilish grin skimmed Jonathan's lips. "B'wok, b'wok," he said.

Charlotte's eyes narrowed. "Are you challenging me?" she asked.

"Not at all," he said, "I just think you're too chicken to ride the rollercoaster."

Her? Chicken? Ha! She was anything but...and she was going to prove it to him. "Alright," she said, "you're on."

Ten minutes later, they sat side-by-side in the front car. A crew member in tan shorts and a red polo shirt with the cruise line's logo stitched over the left breast strapped them in and pulled the lap bar into place. Charlotte clutched it tightly and stared down the track. Fifty feet ahead, it began its ascent. It rounded the exhaust port then dropped toward the deck before bumping out over the water. A vise of anxiety closed around her chest and she took a deep breath. She wouldn't admit to being afraid of heights, but they certainly didn't agree with her.

"You're pale, " Jonathan noted.

Was she?

Better deny it.

"I'm fine," she said, "I'm perfectly normal colored."

"If you don't think you can -"

"I know I can. In fact, I'm thrilled to."

Jonathan chuckle. "Alright."

Shortly, the car took off at a brisk pace and followed the track up over the deck. Charlotte's grip on the bar tightened and her jumped into her throat. Off to her left, the sun-dappled ocean stretched into forever and the deck was so far down that vertigo came over her. They couldn't have been more than 50 feet up, but to her, it seemed like miles. She forced herself to look straight ahead and regulate her breathing. Next to her, Jonathan arched his brow. "Are you alright?"

The track evented out and rounded the funnel. "No," she blurted, "I think I made a huge mistake."

He laid his hand on the back of hers. "I'm right here," he said.

The cart turned around the funnel and Charlotte squeezed her eyes closed. They came to a rolling stop and she gritted her teeth. Here it comes...here it comes.

A warm breeze blew over her face and gulls cried overhead. The car lurched forward, and suddenly, the world went out from under her. Her stomach rocketed into her throat and she let out a high, terrified cry. The wind intensified, screaming into her face with unbridled fury, and she snapped her mouth closed to keep it out of her lungs. The car raced around another turn, and she peeled one eye open.

Actually, this wasn't so bad.

On the second go around, she squealed in terror and glee. When the track elbowed over the water, she stiffened. "There it is, there it is!" she heard herself say.

Jonathan bumped into her. "Off you go," he said.

"No!" she laughed.

"It's only a couple hundred feet."

"It's a million feet!"

To her unending surprise, they made it around the bend without flying off and dashing themselves to pieces on the waves below. At the station, she unbuckled her belt and climbed out, stepping wide over the gap between the curb and the cart. Her legs were rubbery and her heart slammed, but she was whole and alive. "See?" Jonathan asked, "wasn't that fun?"

"It was fun," Charlotte admitted.

They meandered along the top deck past the shops and cafes. Music drifted from an open doorway, and farther on, a man in a top hat juggled for a crowd of tourists in bright clothes. A gust of wind played in Charlotte's hair and she tucked it behind her ear. "What should we do now?"

Jonathan considered her question. "I don't know," he said, "we've…" his eyes lit up. "I know what."

"What?" Charlotte asked.

A half an hour later, they lay face down on adjacent tables while big, mannish women in white uniforms chopped, rubbed, and kneaded their backs. A sense of peace and relaxation that had eluded her for longer than she could remember swaddled Charlotte like a warm, fuzzy blanket, and she entered a state of transcendental meditation. All of her worries and agonies melted away and she drifted on a tide of nirvana.

Afterwards, she and Jonathan had dinner in the grand dining hall, a vast space dotted with tables, a full bar, and a stage where a troupe of acrobats performed death-defying stunts. Low, flickering candlelight provided a romantic ambiance and the whole time, Charlotte admired Jonathan from across the table. Being here with him made her feel like a girl again and she was beginning to think she was falling in love.

Following dinner, they returned to their stateroom. They'd no sooner gotten through the door when Charlotte took his face in her hands and pulled him into a hungry kiss. He wrapped his arms around her hips, gripped her butt, and dragged her body flush with his. She tilted her head to the side and swirled her tongue around his, and he ran his hands up her back, sending shivers down her spine. She pressed her palms to his chest, then hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants. He broke from her lips and trailed kisses up and down the slope of her throat. Charlotte purred in the back of her throat and basked in his affections. He pulled her dress down her shoulders and she slipped her arms out, letting the garment pool around her ankles.

She wasn't wearing anything underneath.

Jonathan cupped her cheek in his hand and gazed lovingly into her eyes. Something unspeakably poignant seemed to pass close by; the hair on the back of her neck stood up and goosebumps raked her naked flesh.

She kissed him again, and he walked her backwards to the bed. They tumbled on with a bounce and Charlotte laughed. Jonathan brushed his thumb over her cheek bone and kissed her deeply. His hand drifted down her quivering stomach and slid between her legs. She opened her thighs to give him easier access and gasped into his mouth when his middle finger skimmed over the sensitive nub of her femininity. He massaged her in slow, lazy circles, and she circled her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life and rocking her hips insistently into his touch.

From there, Charlotte lost herself to the hazy euphoria of passion. He kissed her chest, her stomach, and the spot between her legs. His tongue wrote love letters to her body on the parchment of her most sacred flesh, and she moaned his name in return. He mounted her and sank his rod into her passage with fluid ease, as though he had done it a million times before...as though he was born to do it, made especially for her and no one else. She hooked her legs around his hips and crossed the over his butt in an X. He placed his hands on either side of her head and stroked deep into her womb, his crowned head scraping her walls and nocking a moan from her lips.

She braced his hands against his chest and thrusted in time with him, the embers in her stomach turning into a raging inferno. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him to her breast. The one two punch of him slamming the opening of her cervix and kissing her neck pushed her over the edge; her body clamped down on his and powerful shockwaves raced through her. Jonathan expanded in her, then came with a grunt, his seed flooding her womb and pooling deep inside.

They held each other in the warm afterglow and enjoyed each other's presence. Charlotte laid her hand on the side of his face and kissed his lips. "I love you," she said.

Those words came entirely unbidden and on their own, but as soon as they were out, she realized she meant them with every fiber of her being.

"I love you too," Jonathan replied with a smile.

On their last night onboard, Charlotte was standing in front of the mirror in the stateroom and putting her earrings on. Jonathan came out of the bathroom, took a deep, fortifying breath, and walked over. He hugged her from behind and kissed the side of her neck. "You look ravishing," he said.

"I know," she replied playfully.

He kissed her again. "I have something for you."

"What's that?"

She turned…

...and Jonathan dropped to one knee. She blinked in confusion, then understanding dawned on her when he brought out a tiny black box. Her eyes widened and her hand fluttered to her mouth.

"Charlotte," he said soberly, "this last week has been the greatest of my life and I don't want it to ever end. Will you marry me?"

Tears filled Charlotte's eyes and her head bobbed up and down. "Yes," she said barely above a whisper.

Jonathan got to his feet and she swept him into a kiss.

After the past month, Charlotte didn't think she would ever feel true happiness again.

But she did.

Jonathan Kassel stood at the altar on a sunny Sunday in May. He wore a rented tux that fit snug around the chest and neck and wing-tipped shoes that pinched his toes. It was stuffy and stagnant in the church and his stomach roiled with nerves, but despite all of this, he was bursting with joy. He looked out over the gallery of faces, his friends and family and Charlotte's both come to see them off into holy matrimony. Stu and DeeDee, Howard and Betty, Chas and Kira, Lou - the only conspicuous absence was Drew. He marked his RSVP as "not going" but included a crumpled and torn ten dollar bill as a wedding present.

How thoughtful.

A deep hush lay over the nave, broken only by coughs and the rustle of fabric. Jonathan took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

The music started, Here Comes the Bride, and his heart skipped. Charlotte appeared at the head of the aisle in a flowing white dress. She clutched a bouquet of flowers and smiled ear to ear. Jonathan's eyes went to her rounded stomach, and a rush of pride came over him. They say pregnant women glow, and he believed it, because Charlotte's face had been shining like a lamp since they found out they were expecting.

She came down the aisle and stopped in front of him. The priest read from his book, praising them and the sacred union into which they were entering, and the entire time, Jonathan stared at his soon-to-be wife. Less than a year ago, they were friends and coworkers, nothing more. He was single and beginning to feel the call of domesticity. He wanted to settle down and start a family. He didn't expect he would do it so soon...and with Charlotte.

When the priest was done, they kissed to the applause of three dozen people. Jonathan gazed into her soul-stirring eyes, and in them, he saw his future: Children, a house, a white picket fence, all of the things he had always wanted but never thought he would actually have.

"I love you," he heard himself say...nay...declare.

Charlotte smiled. "I love you too, Jonathan."

He took her hand, and together, they went off to start their life together.