Chapter 15 - Jasmine Asked Me for Five Minutes
Aaron stood beside the marble reception desk where I had left his suitcases nearly a year earlier.
He looked healthier.
Less polished.
More relaxed.
He wore no tie.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he smiled.
“Full circle.”
“Apparently.”
“I heard the talk.”
“You were there?”
“Back row.”
“Why?”
“Samuel invited me.”
“Shareholder privilege?”
“Former CEO pity.”
I laughed.
“Probably both.”
He looked toward the doors.
“Do you have five minutes?”
That phrase again.
Five minutes.
“Okay.”
We stepped outside.
Boston was cold but bright.
People moved past us without noticing.
That felt strange.
There had been a time when every photograph of us seemed to become content.
Now we were just two people on a sidewalk.
“I wanted to tell you something in person.”
I waited.
“I’m seeing someone.”
That surprised me.
“Okay.”
“She isn't connected to Prescott.”
“Good start.”
He laughed.
“She's an architect.”
“Does she know our history?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Enough.”
“Then I'm happy for you.”
Aaron studied my face.
“You mean that?”
“Yes.”
Relief crossed his expression.
Then he noticed something.
“You're seeing Nathan.”
I stared.
“How does everyone know this?”
He smiled.
“Boston isn't that big.”
“Apparently.”
“Are you happy?”
“Yes.”
The answer came easily.
Aaron nodded.
“Good.”
We stood quietly.
Then he said, “I wanted to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Not about us.”
“Okay.”
“I'm starting a foundation.”
That sounded very Aaron.
“What kind?”
“Career reentry.”
I frowned.
“For people returning after caregiving or family leave.”
I thought of Tessa.
Interesting.
“Why?”
“Because I watched what happened to you.”
My instinct immediately hardened.
“Do not build a charity to process guilt about me.”
“I’m not.”
He answered calmly.
“That was the initial idea.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course.”
“My therapist said roughly what you just said.”
“I like your therapist.”
“So I researched.”
He continued.
“There are millions of people who leave careers to care for kids, parents, spouses. A lot struggle to return.”
“Yes.”
“I want to fund retraining and placements.”
I considered.
“That could be useful.”
“I want your opinion.”
“No.”
He blinked.
“Why?”
“Hire experts.”
“I have.”
“Then trust them.”
“I thought your experience—”
“Is mine.”
He became quiet.
“My story doesn't need to become the foundation's origin story.”
“I wasn't planning to use your name.”
“Good.”
I softened.
“But I think the idea is worthwhile.”
He smiled.
“That's enough.”
There it was.
No demand.
No hidden attempt to reconnect.
Just a boundary accepted.
Growth.
We shook hands.
Then I returned inside to collect my bag.
Before I left, Maya called after me.
“Claire!”
I turned.
“You know what everyone remembers most?”
I groaned.
“The Slack message?”
“No.”
She smiled.
“The suitcases.”
“Wonderful.”
“Iconic.”
I laughed.
That evening, Nathan cooked dinner at my townhouse.
Or attempted to.
The pasta was overcooked.
Sauce too salty.
I ate everything.
He stared suspiciously.
“You don't have to pretend.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“It's terrible.”
“Thank you.”
We laughed.
Then he became nervous.
Not fork-tapping nervous.
Different.
“Claire.”
I put down my glass.
“No.”
His face fell.
“I haven't asked yet.”
“You're about to.”
“Maybe.”
“Nathan.”
He reached into his pocket.
I stared.
“Wait.”
He stopped immediately.
That was why I loved him.
“What?”
“I need to say something first.”
He put the ring box on the table but didn't open it.
“Okay.”
“I don't want to become someone's wife and disappear again.”
“You won't.”
“You can't promise that.”
He considered.
“You're right.”
“I need my work.”
“Yes.”
“My name.”
“Yes.”
“My house.”
“You hate my apartment anyway.”
“I do.”
“Fair.”
“I don't want a marriage where one person's career automatically becomes the center.”
“Neither do I.”
“I don't want children.”
That was new territory.
We had discussed uncertainty.
Now certainty.
Nathan took it in.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
“You always said maybe.”
“I said maybe because you said maybe.”
I stared.
“What do you want?”
“You.”
“That is an annoyingly lawyer answer.”
He smiled.
“I don't need children to consider my life complete.”
My eyes filled.
“And if you change your mind?”
“Then I deal with my feelings like an adult. I don't make them your obligation.”
Damn him.
I wiped my eyes.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“One thing.”
“What?”
“If you ever cheat on me, I'm not posting on Slack.”
“Good.”
“I’m buying a billboard.”
He laughed so hard he almost fell out of the chair.
Then he opened the box.
The ring was simple.
Elegant.
No enormous diamond.
He knew me.
“Claire Bennett.”
“Yes?”
“Would you marry me without becoming less Claire Bennett?”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
He blinked.
“Was that the answer?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, Nathan.”
He put the ring on my finger.
We kissed.
No audience.
No employees.
No viral post.
Perfect.
We didn't announce it immediately.
For one month, only family knew.
Then Emily posted a photograph of my hand accidentally visible beside dessert.
The internet discovered it in under an hour.
One headline appeared:
CLAIRE BENNETT ENGAGED TO DIVORCE ATTORNEY FRIEND
Technically Nathan had been my lawyer.
Technically friend.
Predictably scandalous framing.
We ignored it.
Aaron sent one message:
Congratulations. Nathan's a good man.
Nathan read it.
“Should I be offended that your ex-husband endorsed me?”
“Yes.”
“I'm deeply offended.”
Then he sent Aaron a thumbs-up emoji.
I grabbed his phone.
“You did not.”
“I did.”
“You're both impossible.”
Life became unexpectedly ordinary.
Work.
Dinner.
Weekend trips.
Wedding planning.
I refused a giant ballroom.
We chose a small coastal venue.
Forty-eight guests.
No press.
No corporate sponsors.
No seating charts managed by me.
I hired a planner.
Progress.
Then, two months before the wedding, Jasmine called.
“I need five minutes.”
I laughed immediately.
“What?”
“Nothing. Everyone in my life apparently gets five minutes.”
“What happened?”
“I'm getting married too.”
I smiled.
“The science teacher?”
“Yes.”
“Congratulations.”
“There’s something awkward.”
“What?”
“He was offered a teaching position.”
“Where?”
“Boston.”
I waited.
“So you're coming back.”
“Maybe.”
“And?”
“I don't want you to think I'm following—”
“Jasmine.”
“Yes?”
“Live your life.”
She exhaled.
“Right.”
“You don't need permission from me.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I'm learning.”
Then she said something even more unexpected.
“I'd like to invite you to the wedding.”
Silence.
She rushed on.
“You don't have to come. I know it's strange. Actually, it's completely insane. Forget I asked.”
“Jasmine.”
“Yes?”
“When?”
She told me.
It was three weeks after mine.
“I’ll think about it.”
She laughed nervously.
“That's more than I expected.”
I didn't know whether I would go.
Forgiveness was one thing.
Friendship another.
But what struck me most was how absurdly far all of us had traveled since that 3:17 a.m. message.
The wife.
The husband.
The mistress.
None of us remained the characters people thought they knew.
May you like
And that was about to matter again when Aaron made one final offer—not for reconciliation, but for something I never imagined he would voluntarily give away.
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