Updated Nov 23, 2025 • ~7 min read
The email from my fiancé made me smile despite the chaos of my morning.
Can’t wait to marry you in 8 weeks. You’re going to be the most beautiful bride. Love you, Rose.
I typed back a quick heart emoji, then returned to the mess of design proofs scattered across my desk. The Henderson account was being difficult—again—and I had three other client presentations due by Friday.
Welcome to life as a senior graphic designer at one of Chicago’s top agencies.
My phone buzzed. Julie, my best friend and the agency’s art director.
Lunch? I need to vent about the Marcus situation.
Can’t. Drowning. Rain check?
You always say that. When was the last time we actually hung out?
She had a point. Between wedding planning and work, I’d become a hermit. But there were only so many hours in a day.
I was elbow-deep in color corrections when my assistant Lana’s voice crackled through the intercom.
“Roselyn? There’s someone here to see you.”
I didn’t look up from my screen. “Tell them to schedule through email. I’m slammed.”
A pause. “He says it’s urgent. His name is Jeremy Patterson.”
The world tilted.
My mouse clattered to the desk. Five years. Five years since I’d heard that name. Five years since I’d signed divorce papers and walked away from the biggest mistake of my life.
“Roselyn?” Lana’s voice sounded distant. “Should I send him away?”
I should say yes. Should have security escort him out. Should protect the life I’d carefully rebuilt from the wreckage of our marriage.
“Give me two minutes,” I heard myself say. “Then send him in.”
Two minutes to compose myself. To remember I wasn’t that heartbroken twenty-four-year-old anymore. I was successful, engaged, happy.
I was fine.
I pulled out my compact, checked my makeup—still flawless, thank God—and smoothed my emerald blouse. Professional. Polished. Completely unbothered by my ex-husband showing up unannounced.
Ex-husband. The words still tasted bitter.
A knock at the door.
“Come in.”
And there he was.
Jeremy Patterson hadn’t changed. No, that was a lie—he’d gotten better. Unfairly, devastatingly better. The lanky tech entrepreneur I’d married had filled out into a man who commanded attention without trying. Expensive charcoal suit that probably cost more than my rent. Dark hair slightly longer than he used to wear it, brushing his collar. Those blue eyes that had once looked at me like I hung the moon.
They were looking at me that way now.
“Hello, Roselyn.”
His voice. God, his voice. Deep and smooth and still capable of sending shivers down my spine even after all this time.
“Jeremy.” I kept my tone professional, detached. “This is unexpected.”
“I’m sure it is.” He closed the door behind him—too familiar, too comfortable in my space. “You look good. Life’s treating you well.”
“It is, actually.” I gestured to the guest chair, staying safely behind my desk. “What are you doing here? It’s been five years.”
“Five years, three months, and twelve days,” he corrected, settling into the chair with that languid grace that had always made my stomach flip. “But who’s counting?”
Apparently, he was.
“Jeremy, I’m very busy. If this is some kind of trip down memory lane—”
“It’s not.” He reached into his messenger bag and extracted a manila folder. Set it on my desk with deliberate care. “Though we do need to talk about our lane. Specifically, whether we ever actually left it.”
My heart started pounding. “What are you talking about?”
“Open it.”
I didn’t want to. Every instinct screamed danger. But I reached for the folder anyway, flipping it open with hands that definitely weren’t shaking.
Divorce papers.
Our divorce papers.
From five years ago.
Unsigned.
“I don’t understand.” The words came out strangled. “These were filed. The court processed them. We’re divorced.”
“We’re not, actually.” Jeremy leaned back, perfectly relaxed while my world imploded. “The papers were filed, yes. But they were never processed. A bureaucratic mix-up, according to the county clerk.”
“That’s impossible. I got confirmation—”
“You got confirmation that they were received. Not that they were processed.” His eyes never left mine. “Want to know the really interesting part?”
No. I really, really didn’t.
“What?” I whispered.
“I never signed them.”
The folder slipped from my numb fingers. Papers scattered across my desk—unsigned divorce papers, unchanged and damning.
“You never signed them,” I repeated mechanically.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want a divorce.” He said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You filed. You signed. You left. I never agreed to any of it.”
Panic clawed up my throat. “Jeremy, that was five years ago. You can’t just—”
“I can, actually. Legally speaking, you and I are still married. Have been this whole time.” He pulled out another document. “I had my lawyer verify it. In the eyes of the state of Illinois, you’re Mrs. Roselyn Patterson.”
“No.” I stood abruptly, needing distance, needing air. “No, that’s not possible. I’ve moved on. I’m engaged.”
“I know.” Something dark flickered across his face. “Charlie Morton, correct? Investment banker. Drives a Tesla. Takes you to that Italian place on Thursdays.”
My blood ran cold. “Have you been watching me?”
“Keeping tabs,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“That’s insane!”
“That’s love.” He stood too, and suddenly my spacious office felt impossibly small. “Did you really think I’d just let you go, Roselyn? Did you really think five years and some unsigned paperwork would change how I feel about you?”
“Stop.” My hands were shaking now, full-body trembling I couldn’t control. “Stop talking like we’re still—like there’s still something—”
“There is.” He moved closer, and I should have stepped back, should have maintained professional distance. But I was frozen, pinned by the intensity in his blue eyes. “There’s always been something. You felt it the second I walked in this room. Don’t lie to me, Rose. You never could.”
Rose. He was the only person who’d ever called me that. I’d made sure of it after we split—insisted everyone use my full name, erasing him from that small intimacy.
Hearing it now felt like a brand.
“I want you to leave.” The words came out weaker than I intended. “Get out of my office, Jeremy.”
“I will. But first, we need to discuss next steps.”
“There are no next steps. You’re going to sign those papers, we’re going to refile, and we’re going to fix this clerical error like rational adults.”
His smile was slow, dangerous. “I’m not signing anything.”
“You can’t do this.”
“I already did.” He gathered the papers, tucked them back into his folder. “My lawyer’s been in touch with the court. They’ve confirmed the marriage is valid. Which means if you want a divorce, we’ll have to file new paperwork. Start the whole process over.”
“Fine. I’ll have my lawyer contact you—”
“Kimberly Fielding, right?” He rattled off her office address. “Already met with her. Lovely woman. Very thorough.”
My jaw dropped. “You met with my lawyer?”
“Courtesy visit. Wanted to introduce myself, explain the situation.” He moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “Oh, and Roselyn? You might want to tell Charlie about this. Before he hears it from someone else.”
“There’s nothing to hear. This is a clerical error that will be fixed within a week.”
“Is it?” Jeremy’s expression was unreadable. “Or is it the universe giving us a second chance?”
“We don’t need a second chance. I’m happy. I’ve moved on.”
“Have you?” He opened the door, then looked back one last time. “Because I haven’t. Not for one single day.”
And then he was gone, leaving me standing in my office, staring at the space he’d occupied, my carefully constructed life crumbling around me.
Still married.
The words echoed in my head as I sank back into my chair.
I was still married to Jeremy Patterson.
My phone buzzed. A text from Charlie: Dinner tonight? Want to try that new steakhouse.
My hands shook as I typed back: We need to talk.
Everything okay?
No. Nothing was okay.
Nothing would ever be okay again.
Because Jeremy Patterson was back.
And from the look in his eyes, he wasn’t leaving until he got what he wanted.
Me.
Reader Reactions