They Both Wanted Me Every Day — Now They Both Want Sunday to Last Longer Without Me Chapter 12

They Both Wanted Me Every Day — Now They Both Want Sunday to Last Longer Without Me Chapter 12

I looked at the cord on the ground.

I’d picked it up at a church bazaar during junior year. Ethan had almost dropped out back then—I got it hoping he’d make it.

He wore it for seven years.

And in the end, he used it to test how much I could still bleed.

Ethan stepped forward. “Lena. I was just—”

I raised my hand. “Don’t explain.”

His eyes were bloodshot. “I’m a piece of shit. Give me one chance. I’ll cut her off completely.”

Nora shattered at those words. “Ethan.”

He didn’t look at her.

I pulled the dissolution papers from his hand. “Who you cut off—doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

I bent down and stamped my seal on the papers.

The red ink fell. Ethan reached out to stop it.

Too late.

The day of the exhibition, Mist & Peak’s booth had lines wrapped around.

At the entrance hung a photo of my grandmother when she was young. She sat at her cross-stitch hoop, sharp eyes, her needle paused in midair.

I stood in front of the photo, adjusting the flowers.

Arthur Whitman walked over. “Your grandmother would tell you you put those crooked.”

I shifted the vase left. “Now?”

“Acceptable.”

Mia laughed beside me.

Inside, people crowded around The Old Umbrella. The caption got photographed and spread everywhere.

Someone recognized Nora and whispered.

She came today too. No invitation. She bought a ticket.

She stood in front of The Old Umbrella for a long time.

Chad also showed—but got cornered at the door by the client’s niece. “Mr. Harrington. Didn’t you say Miss Vance had nothing but the Vance name?”

Chad pretended not to hear and walked away.

Ethan came later. He wore the gray suit I used to like. His wrist was bare.

He walked through the exhibit, looking at each piece—and the longer he looked, the worse his face got.

Because next to every piece, there was an old entry.

Which year, who borrowed from Eleanor’s Atelier, who leaned on its name, who took its help.

The folding screen his company used at its first client meeting was there too.

The label was clear, [Lent to Sterling Associates for initial client meeting. Never returned. Recovered by Lena Vance.]

Someone read it aloud. “So Sterling used to need Miss Vance’s help too.”

“No wonder he acted so tough. Turns out his toughness was someone else’s property.”

Ethan stopped in front of the screen, completely drained of color.

I walked over. “You like it?”

He looked at me. “You had to lay out all the old history?”

I said, “Old things need to see light too.”

“I’ll return them to you.”

“You already have.”

He said quietly, “Lena. I know I was wrong.”

I asked, “What were you wrong about?”

He couldn’t say it.

Nora walked up from behind. “He was wrong because he thought you’d never leave.”

Ethan turned to her.

Nora smiled. “Me too.”

This was the first time she defended herself without crying.

I looked at her. “Atelier closed?”

She nodded. “Closed. Storefront back to you. What I owe, I’ll pay back slowly.”

Ethan frowned. “Nora.”

Nora stepped back. “Don’t call me that. You calling me now doesn’t feel like winning anymore.”

She looked at me. “Lena. I’m sorry.”

It came too late. But it finally sounded real.

I said, “I heard you.”

She asked, “Will you forgive me?”

I said, “No.”

She nodded. “I know.”

Three days after the exhibition, Ethan’s club started getting cancellations.

It wasn’t me. It was the people who’d only come for the Vance name—they just stopped coming on their own.

Ethan’s mother came to see me again. She didn’t sit in the living room this time. Just stood at the gate.