Logan came back just as the sky was starting to lighten.

He had two orders of churros in his hand.

They came from an elderly couple who ran a little morning stand. If you showed up too late, they would already be sold out.

Back when it was just the two of us, we used to walk there every morning, hand in hand, to grab our favorite churros.

"You're up? Come eat."

He leaned in and kissed my forehead, just like always.

As if every fight we'd ever had could disappear as long as neither of us brought it up again.

Logan set the churros down in front of me, warm and familiar.

"Try it. See if it tastes the same. When I got there this morning, their son and daughter-in-law were running the stand. He said the old couple's at home taking care of their grandkid now."

His eyes lit up as he talked.

"Whitney, remember what you said? You said that when we're old, we'll run a churro stand, too. I'll make the churros, and you'll just sit there and take the money."

He kept going, lost in his imagination.

I didn't answer.

The churro in my mouth turned dry and dense, the sugar clinging as it stuck in my throat no matter how hard I tried to swallow.

"I really only see Regina as family." He kept explaining. "You know what she's been through. Maybe I feel sorry for her because she doesn't have anyone, just like me. That's why I take care of her a little more. And with her depression, if I don't stay on top of it, I'm scared she'll do something reckless."

Seeing me sit there quietly eating, he added, "About our anniversary, you only saw half the fireworks. I'll make it up to you tonight. Eight o'clock."

My hand tightened under the table.

My flight was at 8 p.m.

"And that dress you really liked, I had it sent over, too."

His phone rang, cutting him off.

"Regina?" His voice shifted instantly, sharp with concern. "Don't overthink it. I'm coming right now."

He stood up in a rush.

At the door, he paused and looked back at me. "I'll be waiting for you tonight, Whit."

For a second, I just stood there.

Whit.

He used to call me that when we were kids.

He called me Whit the day he made his promise at my father's grave.

He called me Whit when he held me close during those intimate nights.

I hadn't heard it in a long time.

And I wouldn't hear it again.

-

The plane cut through the night sky. Below, fireworks lit up Westport.

Logan sat by the window. This was the restaurant Whitney had loved since she was a kid.

A flash of red caught his eye. He looked up, a hint of relief crossing his face.

"Whit—wait. What are you doing here?"

His expression darkened almost immediately.

Regina stood there, twisting the hem of the red dress he had picked out for Whitney, looking nervous and unsure.

"Was I not supposed to come? I'm sorry. I didn't know. I thought we were family."

Before, whenever she said things like that, he would soften, his voice turning gentle as he comforted her.

But right now, all he felt was irritation. His mind was somewhere else entirely. He tried calling Whitney a few times, but she didn't pick up once.

Then, an unfamiliar number flashed across his screen.

"Mr. Atkinson, hello. This is Baldwin & Associates. Ms. Welch has retained us to handle her divorce from you…"

Logan's chest seized. His breathing faltered, just for a second.