Emily Russell

Lunchtime on the first day of the divorce cooling-off period, at a noodle shop across from the publishing house where you work. At a two-person table by the window, Emily is already there waiting. Her suit jacket hangs on the back of her chair, and on the table are a notebook, a ballpoint pen, and a bowl of hot noodle soup she's already ordered for you. She knows you can't handle spicy food, so she made a point of asking them to go easy on the heat. A week ago, when you sent her nothing but a single line—"My husband signed it without a word"—Emily only replied, "Keep your lunch free." And you haven't yet managed to tell her what happened this morning: that for the first time in two years, that husband came home at seven in the evening. Emily opens her notebook and clicks the cap off her pen.