I Announced Our Divorce To Airport Reporters

Annika’s tears came out of nowhere. Xavier held her gently, his brow furrowing slightly. She’d gotten way more emotional lately—this was the second time in just two days she’d broken down in front of him.

In the past, Annika hardly ever cried. Even when the Turner family threatened her, she’d only get a little misty-eyed, mumbling apologies over and over but never actually letting a tear fall.

Xavier softly brushed her cheek with his thumb, swiping the tears away as they fell. “What’s going on? Are you still upset about earlier?”

He figured the blowout with Molly must have shaken her. “We’ll head to the manor tomorrow and give her a piece of our mind.”

Annika, eyes still red, shot him a look. “Easy for you to say. Who’s actually going to confront her—you or me?”

“Why don’t we, uh, wreck her garden instead?” he suggested, the corner of his mouth twitching, though he knew he’d never actually destroy his mother’s prized flower beds. “We could tear up all her beloved roses, scatter the petals everywhere. Those blooms are her pride and joy. How does that sound?”

Emma, listening from the side, couldn’t help but be taken aback by how far Xavier would go to cheer Annika up.

When Xavier tried to steer the conversation toward their in-law troubles, Annika felt a wave of exhaustion. She couldn’t bring herself to care about those relationships. Molly had never liked her, right from the start. Annika had bent over backward to win her over for Xavier’s sake, but it had gotten her nowhere. The more she groveled, the less respect Molly gave her.

Xavier kept soothing her. “No more anger, no more sadness, okay? Whatever you bought today, it’s on me.”

Annika looked at him. “I didn’t buy much—just some winter stuff for my dad.”

Xavier let out a soft chuckle. “I had a massage chair shipped from Germany for your dad. It got here this afternoon. We’ll take it over tomorrow. It’s custom-made with head massage functions—should really help with his neurological rehab.”

Annika’s mood slowly started to lift.

Xavier knew her inside out, and he knew her soft spot—her dad. He was her Achilles’ heel. Over the years, Xavier had taken exceptional care of her father. He’d arranged the best specialists, top-tier caregivers, and every single week—no matter how swamped he was—he carved out half a day to meet with the medical team, reviewing Andrew’s progress and mapping out next steps. Hell, last week when he was in South Africa, he still joined the conference call, time difference be damned. The doctors would often reassure Annika, “With Xavier in charge of your dad’s care, you can breathe easy. He just greenlit a million-dollar budget for 24/7 brainwave monitoring and custom drug development tailored to your father’s genetic and cellular profile. It’s leagues ahead of anything else out there.”

Annika couldn’t help but be moved.

Seeing her mood improve, Emma stepped in. “Annika, why don’t you let Xavier drive you home? You’ve had a bit to drink, so just take it easy.”

Annika nodded. “Okay. Drive safe.”

Xavier replied, “I will. I’ll text you when I get home.”

Annika turned, then paused. “Oh wait—I need to use the restroom first.”

Ah, the awkwardness of being stuck alone with your bestie’s husband while she’s in the bathroom.

Emma had never known a minute to drag on so long. She kept stealing glances at the restroom door, willing Annika to come back. The pub was toasty warm, but Xavier’s presence cast an icy chill. He had this unsettling ability to make even the coziest room feel cold.

Emma had barely exchanged a word alone with Xavier since meeting him. As Annika’s best friend, she always kept it strictly boundary-appropriate, steering clear of one-on-one chats. But now…

“Hey, Xavier. You need to be good to Annika, you hear?”

Xavier dropped his gaze, a hint of amusement flickering over his face. “What makes you think I’m not?”

“You are,” Emma admitted, “but you’re also really good to Lina. So good, actually, that it kind of makes what you do for Annika feel… less special.”

Xavier stayed silent for a beat. Then, “It’s different. Annika gets why I do what I do.”

“Gets what? That Bowen thing?” Emma frowned. “You know that wasn’t entirely her fault.”

Xavier’s stare went arctic.

Emma felt the temperature drop and shut her mouth. She was, admittedly, a little scared of him, but she couldn’t let it slide—not when it came to Annika. After the accident, Annika would spend night after night at O’Malley’s, drinking herself into a weepy, exhausted mess. One night, blind drunk, she tried to smash an empty bottle against her own head. Emma grabbed her wrist. “What are you doing, trying to hurt yourself?”

“I have to pay for what I did,” Annika sobbed. “Guilt demands a price. It’s only fair.”

“Who even are you blaming?” Emma almost shouted. “Life gets messy—nobody asks for tragedy. You didn’t hurt Bowen. You’re just… you’re just…”

She wanted to say Annika was just unlucky, but it felt like a slap in the face to Bowen, who’d been incredible—one of the best men Emma had ever known.

Annika sniffed, slumping against Emma’s shoulder, voice small. “That day, Xavier and I got into this huge fight, and I just… stormed out. Bowen called, asking where I was. I told him I was wandering down Fifth Avenue. He said he’d come find me. I told him not to, that I just needed to clear my head, and I’d head home in a bit. I promised I’d be fine, told him not to worry…”

“Bowen—he promised he wouldn’t come. He said I deserved some space, even asked me to call him once I got home safe…”

“So why? Why did he end up on Oak Street? Why did he come for me anyway and get himself killed in that crash?”

Emma caught the weirdness right away. Fifth Avenue and Oak Street? They’re nowhere near each other—one’s on the south side, the other’s north. At first, she’d figured maybe Bowen had gotten turned around, driving all over the city looking for Annika. But the man knew exactly where she was, so what was he doing on Oak Street?

“So why would Bowen have gotten into an accident on Oak Street if he was headed to Fifth Avenue to find you?” Emma asked quietly.

Annika was quiet for a long time. Then, barely a whisper: “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

And suddenly, it clicked for Emma. Of course.

Everyone knew Bowen had gone out that night because of Annika. Everyone knew he’d been on his way to her. At this point, it didn’t matter if the accident happened on Oak Street or the moon. The narrative was set in stone.

Even if Bowen hadn’t been driving to Annika at all, it was too late to change the story. Annika couldn’t exactly argue, ‘But I was on Fifth Avenue, and he died on Oak Street, so I’m not responsible.’ Not without sounding like she was deflecting blame onto a dead man.

Annika was shackled by guilt, utterly convinced she’d played a part in Bowen’s death.

It was a lose-lose situation.

Nobody blames the dead. Nobody questions the decisions of someone who’s no longer here. So all the blame, every last ounce of it, landed squarely on Annika’s shoulders.