Falling in love had never been a part of my plan. Yet, there I was, screwed! How could I love her? She was poor! That didn’t make much sense, but she had gotten under my skin. I had gone on the site again, hoping I’d find another woman who would make her face go away. None had succeeded, and it didn’t help that I kept returning to Anna’s picture.

“Sir!” Marissa all but shouted, breaking me out of my self-induced trance.

“Yes, Marissa,” I replied through gritted my teeth.

“Mr. Bloomfield is here,” she announced.

“Send him in.” I straightened my tie and sat upright in the chair. I stood when the door opened. “Jon!” I exclaimed and grabbed his large hands.

“All set?” he asked and slammed his briefcase down on the table and clicked it open. He pulled out a file and slid some sheets of paper towards me. That was Jon—straight to business.

I scanned the sheets he placed before me, picking up a line here and there that stipulated what I wanted from this divorce. When he had returned, I’d told him I wanted to cut her off and not will anything to her since we hadn’t been married for six months. Now, I stared at the documents with no interest in signing them.

“What’s the problem?” Jon asked, perplexed. “Did I leave something out?”

“No.” I sighed. “It seems you have it all here.”

He waited for me to sign, but I had never felt so pressured in all my life, even after all the conferences I’d attended, all the meetings I’d hosted, and all the boards I’d chaired. This one thing—to sign a bill of divorce from a woman I had every reason to be separated from—was the hardest thing I had ever faced.

“Raymond, what’s wrong? I thought this was what you wanted,” Jon said eventually when I made no movement.

I stared into his expressive eyes, round with wonder, and pushed my chair back. “I thought so too.” I shoved my hands into my pockets and went to the window. The traffic below seemed to crawl as slowly as my thoughts. The thick-paned glass prevented me from hearing any of the constant honking of horns or from smelling the smog emitted by the manufacturing plant close to the harbor. I pressed my forehead against the glass and closed my eyes as I hoped for an epiphany.

“You know,” Jon said from close behind me, and my eyes popped open. “You really don’t have to do this. Obviously, you have some reservations about signing, so maybe you should…think about it some more?”

It sounded like a question, but it was really a suggestion. And I fought with my conscience. “There is—should—be nothing to think about,” I snapped. “I only met her three months ago.”

Jon chuckled. “Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”

My head snapped up, and I yanked my head around to fire back a feisty retort. Jon saw right through me and was laughing harder now, which only irritated me more. But I couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say.

“I’ll give you some time. Call me if you do decide to sign, and I’ll take it from there.” He returned to the chair and removed his case from the table. He snapped it shut and walked to the door, where he turned. “I have a feeling I won’t hear from you. But take my advice—go find her and stop beating yourself up. It’s obvious you love her.”

The longer I remained in the office with the sheets of paper scattered on the desk in front of me, the harder it became for me to sign the damned things, and the truer Jon’s words rang. I didn’t think I was capable of loving anyone. And what did it matter anyway? I chased her out of my house with barely anything other than the clothes on her back. Why would she take me back?

I tormented myself all the way to my front door, where I was greeted by Grace wearing a broad smile.

“Good evening, sir.” She beamed. Even her cherubic face annoyed me because everyone was happier than me.

I nodded and walked past her, but she followed me like a cocker spaniel that was ecstatic its master had returned home. I stopped abruptly and she ran into my back.

“Ooh, sorry, Mr. Jameson,” she apologized and bowed.

“What is it, Grace?” I asked through clenched jaws.

“I don’t want to be rude, but some of the Mrs.’ things are still in the bedroom and I don’t know what to do with them. Should I throw them out? Or maybe you could donate them to the local church.”

It was hard for me to listen to her talking about getting rid of the last of Anna from the house, even though she asked a perfectly logical question. “No. Leave them be,” I replied and moved away.

She still hustled after me. “Does that mean she is coming back?” I could hear the hopefulness in her voice.

“No! I don’t know. Just leave them there.”

“For what it’s worth, if I may say so, sir,” she began. She didn’t wait for my permission before to speak, but she did now.

“Just say it. I’ve had a long day.”

“I miss Mrs. Jameson, and some of the others do too. It would be really nice if she came back. I mean, she is different from the other…”

I sighed. “Grace, it’s okay to express yourself. I won’t fire you for it.” I looked at her matronly face, and the happiness in her face created wrinkles at her eyes.

“She…Mrs. Jameson treated us nice, sir. I like her.”

I had no idea why Grace saying that impacted me so much. I had warmed, and I could easily understand why she would be liked by the house staff. She had worked her way into a cold and broken heart I didn’t think would beat normally again. And now I was pining after her and wishing I hadn’t thrown her out.

“That’s good,” I said and half smiled at Grace.

She bowed and walked away, and I went to the room Anna used to occupy. I hadn’t been inside since she left, and I immediately felt her presence. I walked over to the easel with the half-finished drawing, and I flipped through the pages. I was blown away when I saw the designs she’d created. She had talent, untapped talent, but it drove it home that she had lied about her entire life. She wasn’t involved in any real estate business, nor did she own a fashion line. It had all been a pretense, an act to pull me in. And it had worked.

I was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, and I couldn’t even talk to anyone about it. They would think I was crazy for considering asking her to come home. What would everyone think if they knew I got married to a woman who used to live in a poor house? Who might still live in a poor house.

I remembered the image Bruce had sent, and I couldn’t imagine anyone living in that place. The building looked like it was on the verge of collapse, and when I lay in my California king-sized bed that night with the billowy throw caressing my skin, I had the most uncomfortable feeling. I couldn’t fall asleep as the images of her lying on a hard, wooden bed plagued me, of her soft skin covered with rags, and her silky red strands matted and dirty.

I remembered her laugh and how her body had hugged mine in the late of the night when I needed to feel my cock deep inside her. I couldn’t escape the thoughts of her soft lips as they glided over mine, and how perfectly she fit in my arms. I had run from those feelings from the moment I felt their effect, and with her gone, I felt them even more. It became painfully clear that what I needed was not a mail-order bride to satisfy some primal procreational need. I needed a woman to come home to at night, to feel the love I had never felt before and that I tasted a sample of and craved like a drug. But I didn’t need simply any woman. After having been without Anna for a month, I knew it was her I needed.

The thought followed me into the following day, and I got no work done. By noon, I was a wreck. I grabbed my jacket and stormed from the office. I didn’t tell Marissa where I was going. I felt like if I said the words, this would feel real and I’d change my mind. I was going to find Anna, and I knew exactly where to go.

I bounded through the glass doors of the building and spotted a cab parked alongside the curb. The driver leaned lazily against the side of the vehicle, and he jumped to attention when he saw me approaching.

“Taxi?” he called.

“I need to get downtown,” I told him and hopped inside.

We were halfway there when he glanced at me through the mirror. “Mister? Where downtown?”

He had a thick accent that resembled an East Indian’s, like he was a recent immigrant and the local dialect had not yet woven its way into the fabric of his tone.

“Do you know where I can find the homeless shelter?” I asked. I didn’t even remember which street it was on.

“Which one?” he asked. “There are quite a few of them.”

There were a few? It hadn’t occurred to me before that there were so many people living on the streets. “Where’s the closest one?” I asked gingerly.

The man sighed and stared at me through the mirror. “Okay, it would be easier if you told me what you are looking for. Or who.”

I looked out the window and bit my lower lip as my chest tightened at the thought of her. “A woman,” I replied softly. I looked him dead in the eye through the mirror. “I’m looking for a woman.”

His eyes smiled back at me. “That makes it easier. There are about three of those.”

“Take me to each one,” I commanded.

“No problemo,” the man replied and affixed his gaze to the lunch hour traffic that made my world come to a standstill.

I tapped my knees impatiently as time dragged on, and I constantly checked my wrist watch. It seemed as if every couple of minutes I checked, the minute hand had moved backwards.

“What’s going on?” I eventually belted out in frustration.

“This is what happens at this time of day,” the cab driver responded. “I wish I could take a short cut, but all the roads are like this. They should stop giving everyone the same lunch hour,” he rambled.

“It works for you,” I replied. “The longer we sit here, the more your fare.”

He grinned at my reply, and his easy countenance provided a small measure of ease. Eventually, we were able to make it out of the tight spot we were in, and my heart sped as fast as the car the closer I got to downtown.

The driver pulled up outside a rundown building, and I immediately recognized it from the picture. “This is one of them,” he turned and said.

“Yeah, I think this is it,” I answered tentatively and gazed out the window. I pulled a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet and handed it to him before opening the door. “Keep the change,” I looked back and said, and a toothy smile followed.

“Should I wait?” he asked eagerly. “You could be wrong.”

“No. That won’t be necessary. This is definitely the one. Thanks.”

“All right,” he answered in a disappointed voice, and the car rolled away from the curb—slowly, as if he wanted me to tell him to wait.

After he had gone, I turned and faced the building. The day was hot, and I felt even more flushed as I stood at the bottom of the cracked concrete steps under the awning that flapped in the breeze. I felt like I had been there before, and with heavy legs, I slowly made my ascent. My feet hit the landing with a thud, and a large woman who looked as if she had been poured into clothes made for a smaller-sized woman appeared immediately.

“Hello, sir,” she called chirpily. “How may I help you? Are you a member of the committee?”

“Uh, no,” I knitted my brows and answered. “I’m here to see someone.”

“Oh. Who?”

I had only one name to use, and by all indications, that was probably her correct name. “Anna Ja…Ramsey,” I corrected myself. That was the only name I’d ever use, and I almost let it slip.

“Oh.” She looked me up and down, and I knew she was wondering why someone like me, all dressed up, was looking for Anna. “Right this way.”

She walked ahead, and I was jarred by the faces I saw as I followed. Beds were set up in haphazard, crisscrossing ways, bunks, and others that seemed to be attached to the walls. Deep, sunken eyes stared at me, and the smell of mold, urine, and puke choked a cough from me. It was hard not to walk through and pinch my nose to prevent from inhaling too much of the rancid smell. I couldn’t understand how anyone could live in a place like this.

“She’s over there.” The woman stopped abruptly and pointed.

I nodded and looked past her. I saw the red hair, and my heart pounded even faster. I hadn’t seen her in so long, and now that she was within inches of me, I felt paralyzed. She was on her knees by a woman’s side. The woman was coughing, and she was trying to feed her from a cup. The woman sputtered, and Anna scuffled backwards as she retreated from the water sprays.

I moved closer, and as I did, her head turned and the cup fell from her hands when she saw me.