Page 3 of A Minute Past Midnight

She smiled at me. “You’re so sweet. I think you and my grandson would make a cute couple.” She giggled.

“I’m not really looking for anyone right now. I’m still trying to figure my life out.”

“Chile, take it from an old lady. You will never figure life out. Only God knows where you are and where you're going. All you need to do is your best, and He’s got the rest. Ya hear?”

I smiled. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay, baby. If you aren't busy later, come by for dinner.”

“I will,” I told her, hugging her before making my exit. I stepped out of the building into the warm April air. I’d been living in Michigan for a year now. Last April, the weather was still a little cool after coming out of the winter months, but today, the weather was nice, which seemed unusual.

I wasn't complaining, though.

It felt good to get out of my box of worries and get some fresh air.

I should go out tonight and have a drink. At least I could forget about my troubles for a few hours. Yeah, that's what I'm going to do.

I went to the YouTube app, tapped on the J. Cole playlist I’d created, then jogged up the block, trying to run away from the problems that awaited me back at my apartment.

Even though I knew once I returned, those problems would still be there, waiting to greet me at the door.

The jet landed quietly on the tarmac as I wrapped up the call with Forever, my over-pretentious, habitual liar of a wife.

I didn’t know why we did this.

It was clear our marriage was over for almost a year now. Forever wanted to live in this fantasy that we were happily married. She put on this act for her family and mine, but in reality, she was never my forever.

I met her at a dinner party my best friend, Drew, had four years ago. At first, I thought she was cool. Very pretty, poised, and down-to-earth. That was until the fake front she put up came crashing down when I married her two years after we met.

I started to see subtle shit she’d do. One of them was lying like a motherfucka. The first lie was her age. When I met her, she told me she was thirty-one, but when it was time to for us to walk down the aisle and we needed documentation for our marriage license, I found out she was actually twenty-six.

That was red flag number one.

I should have walked away, but I was in too deep, and she cried and pleaded with me to forgive her. Since I’d spent thousands of dollars on the wedding of her dreams, I forgave her, ignoring the seven-year gap between us.

Then came her profession.

While I didn't particularly care if she worked or not, it was the fact that she told me she worked for the famous fashion designer Kamilla Moring. When I popped up at the store she claimed to work in to take her to lunch one day, the people in the store thought I was crazy as fuck, telling me they never had any recognition of a Forever Frost working for them.

Of course, when I confronted her about it, she piled on more lies, and that was when I knew our marriage was over.

Now, four years later, and it had been nothing but a whirlwind of bullshit, and as I looked down at the divorce decree in my hands, I knew this was the right decision.

My grandmother hated her, my moms and pops never talked to her, and my brother couldn’t stand her.

Once my family showed me that they would never accept her, I knew it was time to cut my losses and move on.

That phone call was her begging me to give her one more chance, but I was all out of chances to give.

I had too much shit going on in my life to deal with a woman who could lie and fake her whole fucking identity.

Not to mention I ran multiple businesses that had me away from home more often than I'd like. I was the CEO/Founder of Frost Riverfront Architectural Firm. We specialized in designing dream homes and buildings for businesses. I retired from being a kingpin to being a legit businessman.

I also owned an exclusive nightclub called District 313. So while I was away from home securing contracts, Forever was home drumming up illusions and lies.

“We got a problem at 313,” my partner and best friend, Drew, said typing into his phone.

I looked over at him. “What kind of problem?”