**Chapter 2** The following morning, Brandon found himself ensconced in the luxurious confines of his Maybach, parked just outside the courthouse. The sun glared down, illuminating the polished exterior of his car, a stark contrast to the brewing storm within him. Dread and anticipation twined together in a knot in his stomach as his left hand drummed against the steering wheel, a familiar rhythm that barely managed to quell his racing mind. “Brandon, you and Millie have been married for a year now. Don’t you think it’s time to start planning for a baby?” The warm voice of his grandmother crackled through the phone’s speaker, though it did little to ease his tension. He sighed, a mixture of fondness and irritation flickering across his face. “Grandma, we’re still young. No need to rush things,” he countered gently, hoping to soothe her concerns. “You and Grandpa should focus on staying healthy.” “What do you mean by ‘no need to rush’?” Her tone sharpened, filled with an urgency that cut through his impatience. “Your grandfather’s health may have improved, but we’re not getting any younger. Time waits for no one.” “Grandma—” he started, but she interrupted him. “Don’t give me that! I’ve heard things, Brandon. Whatever is happening, you need to be good to Millie.” A palpable silence settled over the call, the weight of years and concerns filling the emptiness on the line. “Brandon, did you hear me?” she pressed. He rubbed his forehead as frustration mounted, a nerve struck. “I understand, Grandma.” After a few more strained exchanges, he disconnected the call, plunging into a deeper silence. His fingers resumed their tapping, slower now, the mere act of it feeling increasingly futile. His gaze drifted outside, fixating upon the courthouse looming ahead—a granite monument to impending decisions that threatened to alter the course of their lives. With a clenched jaw, he navigated to the messaging app on his phone. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over a profile picture that seemed to sing to him— a floral image underlined with the words “My Love.” He dismissed it, instead opening the thread containing their last conversation. The cold reminder of the divorce loomed heavily in his last message, a stark reality that she hadn’t even acknowledged. “Where are you?” he typed with a biting urgency, hoping for some kind of answer that could dissolve the tension coiling in his chest. Almost immediately, a knock on the window jolted him. Turning, he found Millie standing outside—a vision that made his heart lurch. Her face appeared pale, a ghost of her usual vibrant self, as she slid into the passenger seat, her expression inscrutable. He observed her, clad in the same clothes he had worn yesterday—the very outfit she had meticulously chosen for him. Over the years, Millie had crafted every aspect of his appearance; from his tailored shirts to the exact cologne he wore, she had been the architect of his public persona. “Why are you late?” he asked, the edge in his voice betraying the turmoil inside him. “I’m not late,” she responded quietly, her gaze averted. She was no longer that bright-eyed girl who thrived on punctuality, waiting eagerly for him without a second thought. A heaviness settled in the car, thick and suffocating, as Brandon’s fingers froze against the steering wheel. He studied her—an awkward silence pricking at him. She looked delicate, perhaps a victim of sleepless nights consumed by the weight of their impending divorce, yet there was a quiet strength hidden within her vulnerability. “My grandma called earlier,” he muttered, breaking the silence. “Don’t tell them about the divorce. They’re too old to handle something like that.” Millie hesitated, absorbing his request before she opted to address the elephant in the room. “What did your grandma say?” “She wants us to have a baby,” he replied flatly, a flicker of annoyance splintering in his voice. The silence thickened, suffused with unspoken words and raw emotions. But after what felt like an eternity, Millie let out a small, incredulous laugh, a sound that sliced through his rising irritation. Brandon turned his head to the window, clenching his hand into a fist as memories unfurled before him. There were moments when he had imagined the life they could have built together—whispering sweet nothings while cradling their child against Millie's belly, dreams of tomorrow cascading like hopeful fireworks. But now, that possibility lay shattered at their feet, just like their fading connection. “If we wanted to, we could remarry in six months and still have time to start planning for a baby,” he mused aloud, trying to convince himself of a future he feared would never unfold. Yet deep down, he knew that would not change the unrelenting reality: Vivian had only six months left. Time was slipping through his fingers like fine sand. Once more, the world outside the Maybach continued its hurried pace, completely oblivious to the tumultuous storm brewing within these four doors. Millie finally broke the silence, her voice low and hesitant, “Just once more, Brandon. Are you completely sure you want to go through with the divorce?” The tension coiled tighter, a question cloaked in desperation—not just hers, but his as well. In the suffocating silence of the car, with the courthouse looming ominously before them, Brandon realized that the choice he was about to make could alter the very fabric of their lives forever.