No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

ess, staccato rhythm against the cold ma

puter screen, his brow furrowed so deeply, he t

, "It's just a copy of the license.

looked up, his e

, "I've searched by your name, by Mr. Cooley's name, and by the date

h, "That's impossible. We had three hundr

ng on the smooth screen as she pulled up the p

legally, the officiant-or the couple-must return the signed license to this office within sixty days. If t

gripped the edge of the co

shed, sharp

ening his tie, "Don't worry about the paperwork, babe. I'l

he had been so sw

u," she w

uilding, the noon sun hit her like

ng

igh Cooley, she

rsized tote bag for her iPad. She carried it everywhere to sync Gray's schedule

vibrated

ation banner stretched acr

ing Invitation: "

ut her thumb hovered over the 'Accept' button. The sender's nam

loaded i

cy test. Two pink lines. The background was unmistakable-t

ped walking,

ot of a text message thread.

est gift we could give the family, I promise, onc

p was from t

idic. She stumbled toward a metal trash can on the corner. She

e ye

ll access to the principal amount after thre

The "infertility" issues Gray had been so supportive about, the way his mother

t just che

half his assets in a divorce. Because there was no divorce if there was no marriage. They needed a three-year paper trail for the trust executors. A public perfor

d, a tremor ran through her limbs, but benea

low cab, slid in

r asked, eyeing her i

say, but the words died on he

son Avenue." It was the building that housed the

nts ago, were now steady. She opened an encrypted messaging app and

of Gray Cooley's asset tran

post from Brylee Franklin. Her best friend. Her confidante. T

flutes clinking against a sunset. The c

d in on the c

lden liquid, she saw him. The blurry

alms until the skin broke, t

led out a tube of lipstick,

fully, tracing the

whispered to the empty cab, "I'll