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He sat alone, hands over his face.

Three days.

He'd been through dry spells before. She was in and out of the hospital. Weeks without seeing her wasn't unusual. With Vivienne back this year, he'd gone months.

But this was different. His chest was a vice.

Reassurance didn't help. Nothing helped. He needed to see her, real, in front of him.

The door opened again.

"I told you to get out —" He hurled the bowl at the door without looking.

"Mr. Thorne. It's me."

His assistant.

His face came up.

"Anything?"

The assistant swallowed.

"We found out. The divorce is real."