No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

ess, staccato rhythm against the cold ma

stared at his computer screen,

g, hit backspace,

ice was steady. "It's just a copy of the li

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

orld

linding. Gray, three years ago, standing in their hotel suite, loosening his tie. "Don't wo

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: "

thumb hovered over the 'Accept' button. The sender's name was unfami

loaded i

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

stopped

sw

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

ed a yel

into the

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