The Breakup Specialist​

My job is… unusual. I break people up for a living.

Not the legal kind—that’s what lawyers are for. I handle the messy, emotional fallout that comes before the paperwork is signed.

They say love is priceless, but men and women who just whispered “I love you” to their partners can place a six-figure order with me seconds later.

Take right now, for instance. A text from my husband, Andrew, just lit up my phone. He’s asking if I’d prefer Paris or Singapore for our wedding anniversary.

And a second later, a young woman with a delicate, pretty face walked into my office.

She was timid, gathering her courage before she finally spoke. "I'd… I'd like to place an order. For my boyfriend. He's decided to divorce his wife."

I kept my face neutral and picked up the client intake form. And then I saw the name.

Andrew Cole.

My hand froze for a fraction of a second. The girl across from me, head bowed, continued in a small voice, "My boyfriend says his wife is a good person, so he doesn't want to hurt her."

A dry smile touched my lips. I stared at the photo on the form—at Andrew's face, a face so familiar it had somehow become a stranger's.

It was a bitter thought.

In my third year as a breakup specialist, I’d finally received my own case.

1

I set the file down and took a proper look at the girl.

Jenna.

She wasn't as beautiful as me, merely pretty in a fragile, unassuming way. Slender—she'd definitely never had a child. She carried an air of inexperience, but her clothes and speech suggested a good education. When she mentioned being the other woman, her eyes darted away, a flicker of what looked like shame.

"Ms. Thorne," she began, her voice gaining a little confidence, "what would you recommend for a situation like mine? My boyfriend said it would be best if… if the woman initiated the divorce herself. They've been together a long time, you see. It would be awkward."

She bit her lip, offering a shy, almost innocent smile. If I wasn't absolutely certain she didn't recognize me, I would have thought she was mocking me to my face.

I stretched my lips into a professional smile. "Ms. Bird," I said, using her last name from the form, "how long have you and he been together?"

The question seemed to catch her off guard. "What?"

I raised my voice slightly, keeping it steady. "Before I can propose a strategy, I need to understand every detail of your relationship."

Understanding dawned on her face. She nodded, her voice as bright and cheerful as a songbird's. But with every word she spoke, another piece of my smile chipped away.

"We've been together for three years. We met at the hospital."

She blushed, a soft pink dusting her cheeks. "His family member was having surgery, something serious, I think. He was so scared, just smoking in the hallway. I was passing by and… well, I said a few words to comfort him." She gave a self-conscious laugh. "We got to talking, and less than a week later, he asked me to be his girlfriend."

As I listened to her sweet recollection, a sh...