Reunited with My Ex: Be My Secret Husband

Ophelia's POV

“Stay with me.”

Finnegan caught my hand against his cheek, turning his face into my palm. I had been watching him too closely, trying to memorize things I had no business forgetting: the way his hair fell across his forehead, the little crease between his brows when he looked at me like this.

“I’m here,” I whispered.

He kissed me, and I held on to him. Outside, rain battered the windows. Inside, there was only the warmth of his skin, his breath against my mouth, the familiar weight of him as I drew him closer.

I wanted him to take his time. I wanted it over before I lost my nerve.

When the last shudder passed through us, he lowered his head to my chest. His breathing was uneven. So was mine.

I threaded my fingers through his damp hair.

“You okay?” he murmured.

I nodded, though he couldn’t see it, then made myself answer.

“Yeah.”

His lips brushed my skin. He settled more comfortably against me, one arm around my waist, and I let myself have another minute.

We had been together for almost a year. Long enough for my face wash to sit beside his in the bathroom. Long enough for him to keep coffee I liked in his kitchen, even though he said it tasted like dessert. Both of us were in medical school, and lately most of our dates involved takeout and one of us quizzing the other until we fell asleep.

Last week, he’d complained that my flash cards were taking over his apartment.

“Make room,” I’d told him.

He had cleared a drawer.

I looked toward the chair beside the bedroom door. My bag was there, half open. The check inside it was made out to me.

Five hundred thousand dollars.

His mother had named her price without hesitation.

You will break up with him. And you will make it clear that it’s what you want.

Finnegan’s hand moved slowly over my back. I closed my eyes.

He knew his mother disapproved. When she’d found out about us, I’d been right beside him as she asked whether he was serious about “this girl.”

“Her name is Ophelia,” he’d said. “And yes, I am.”

She had tried again. He hadn’t let her finish.

“Stay out of my relationship, Mom.”

Afterward, he’d squeezed my hand and asked where I wanted to eat. He’d been so certain that was the end of it.

I had almost believed it too.

“You’re going to put me to sleep,” he said now.

My fingers stopped in his hair.

“Sorry.”

“Wasn’t a complaint.”

He kissed me beneath my collarbone, then rested his cheek there again. His breathing had steadied. I could feel his thumb tracing the same small patch of skin at my waist.

I waited until I trusted my voice.

“Finnegan. We need to talk.”

“Mm?” He sounded comfortable, almost sleepy. “Go ahead.”

I stared past his shoulder.

“I think it’s time we ended this.”

His hand stopped.

Then he raised his head.

“What do you mean?”

“We should break up.”

He searched my face, waiting for me to explain.

“I…” My throat closed. I swallowed and tried again. “I don’t love you anymore.”

“What?”

I couldn’t say it twice. I pulled my hand from his hair and tucked it beneath the sheet.

He shifted onto his elbow, giving me space to turn toward him.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Then where is this coming from?” His voice was still quiet. “If something’s wrong, tell me. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

I wanted to believe that. I wanted to tell him everything and let him make the decision for me.

But he hadn’t been there when his mother mentioned my grandmother.

Until then, I had been ready to walk out of the restaurant. She’d told me I wasn’t good enough for him, that he was enjoying himself, that eventually he would choose someone from the right family. I could have endured all of it. Finnegan had told her he was serious about me. I’d heard him.

Then she said, “Your grandmother is still in the hospital, isn’t she?”

I’d stopped reaching for my bag.

“She’s getting excellent care. I’m sure you’d like that to continue.”

The Shaws had enough money and influence to make good on a threat like that. I hadn’t asked her to prove it.

My grandparents had raised me after my parents died. Grandpa had driven me to school and waited outside when I stayed late. Grandma had sat at the kitchen table with me while I studied, pretending she needed to mend something so I wouldn’t be up alone. They’d spent years putting money aside for my education, giving up things I only understood when I was old enough to see the bills.

Now Grandma was sick. Some days she was too exhausted to hold the phone, but she still asked whether I needed money for books.

I loved Finnegan. I couldn’t gamble with her life to keep him.

His mother had watched me cry, then pushed the envelope across the table.

“Five hundred thousand. Take care of your grandmother. Leave my son alone.”

I had said yes.

“Ophelia?”

I blinked and found him watching me.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “I just don’t feel the same way.”

He eased back and sat against the headboard. I drew the sheet over my chest.

For a while, he said nothing. A car passed on the wet street below us.

“Did my mother talk to you?” he asked at last.

I kept my eyes on his.

“Did she ask you to leave me?”

“No. This has nothing to do with your mother.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Then talk to me. Because a few minutes ago—”

“I know.”

He waited.

I could still feel where his mouth had been. I knew what tonight had meant to me, and how little sense any of this would make to him.

“I’m tired of this relationship,” I said. “I don’t want to keep doing it.”

He looked down at the space between us.

“So you came over to end things.”

“Yes.”

“But you slept with me first.”

My face burned. I’d told myself I needed one last night. Sitting beside him now, I couldn’t find a way to defend it.

“I shouldn’t have.”

He nodded once, slowly, as if he needed a moment to take that in.

I wanted him to get angry. It would have been easier than watching him sit there, trying to work out when I’d stopped loving him.

“Please,” I said. “Can we end this without a fight?”

His eyes returned to mine.

“I’m not fighting with you.”

“I know.” I twisted the edge of the sheet between my fingers. “I just want us to let each other go. You’ll forget about me.”

He stared at me.

“I hope you do,” I added. “Soon.”

I slid out of bed before he could answer.

“Where are you going?”

“The bathroom.”

I shut the door and turned on the faucet. For a few seconds I stood with both hands on the sink, struggling to breathe quietly.

My face in the mirror was flushed. My hair was tangled from his hands. I looked exactly like I had on a dozen other nights here, when I’d washed up and climbed back into bed beside him.

I pressed a towel against my mouth until I could trust myself to put it down.

Then I used the toilet, washed my hands, and splashed cold water on my face. I dried it carefully. He knew what I looked like after I’d cried.

When I came out, he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He had put on his sweatpants.

My clothes were scattered across the floor. I gathered them and dressed with my back to him, fumbling with a button on my blouse.

He let me struggle with it.

Usually, he would have been there before I asked.

I pulled on my socks and shoes. My coat hung over the chair, beneath my bag. I set the bag on the floor to get it, and the envelope slipped against the open zipper.

I pushed it back beneath my notebook.

“You’re really leaving.”

I turned. He was standing now.

“Yes.”

A gust of rain struck the window. The weather had gotten worse while we were in bed.

Finnegan glanced toward the glass.

“At least wait until it lets up.”

“I’ll get a cab.”

I slipped my arms into my coat and lifted my bag onto my shoulder. There were things of mine in his bathroom, in the drawer he’d cleared for me. I couldn’t stay to collect them.

He took a step toward me.

“Goodbye, Finnegan.”

“Ophelia, no—”

I opened the door and went out, pulling it shut behind me.

I kept walking. At the elevator, I watched the numbers above the doors instead of looking back down the hall. When it arrived, I stepped inside and pressed the lobby button.

Only then did I let myself cover my mouth.

Outside, wind drove the rain beneath the entrance awning. I booked a cab and stepped back against the wall to wait.

Six minutes.

I could manage six minutes.

Then a sob caught in my throat, and I couldn’t stop the next one. I bent my head over my phone. Tears fell onto the screen, blurring the route between the cab and me.

I wiped them away with my sleeve. More came.

This morning, I’d called Grandma before class. She’d asked if I was happy. I’d told her I was.

I gripped the phone in both hands and waited for the cab, crying too hard to check how far away it was.

I’m sorry, Finnegan.

I’m so sorry.