Dear Ex-wife Marry Me by Twin Bridge

“Alright, Maja, I’ve got this,” Quentin reassured her with a smile. Quentin perched on the couch, the very picture of innocence. Maja had retreated upstairs, her fingers deftly navigating Ian’s smartphone, searching for something out of place. But being a new device, it was almost barren of any personal touches. Eventually, she tapped into the notes app. A few entries scrolled into view, clearly Ian’s handiwork. [Can’t find her Middle Island. Was she in Inner Island?] [Maybe in Outer Island? Where on earth is she?] [Wish I hadn’t let her come with me. This is so irritating.] She knew instantly he was talking about her. A smirk played on Maja’s lips. Ian didn’t have her number, so his notes were his only solace. Breathing a sigh of relief, she scrolled further down, only to halt at the very last entry. [How could she be dead? Maja wouldn’t die, let alone disappear.] Maja stood abruptly, a frown creasing her forehead. Someone told Ian she was in trouble? And then there was that call, telling her Ian had made some other choice, something that might keep him away from her. If the news of her trouble was a false lead, what about that phone call? Clutching the phone, her head started to ache with the weight of the unanswered questions. Quentin’s voice floated up from downstairs. “Maja, it’s raining cats and dogs out here, and that Patric kid is playing in the mud, paying no heed to the rain or me.” Maja hustled downstairs to Patric’s side. True to form, Patric was squatting, prodding an anthill with his fingers. “Patric, come inside, you need to get out of the rain,” she called out to him. His hands were caked in mud, kneading the earth as if it were dough, shaping it into various forms. “Maja, eat.” He offered her a clump of mud, his eyes shining

was not in his right mind. Brushing the mud away, she urged, “Let’s go inside first.” “Okay, sure.” They started back toward the house when Patric halted, touching his head. “Maja, I’m remembering things.” “What things?” “People at the fighting ring were mean. I hurt lots of people, and animals too.” Maja stopped in her tracks, her brows knitting together. “Have you confused yourself with Ian?” His mind was a mess, but why latch onto Ian’s identity? “What? I don’t understand what you’re saying. I want to go home.” Patric became agitated, clutching his head. “I want to go home.” Maja closed the front door, preventing another muddy escapade. “Quentin, take him to rest, and give him something for the cold,” she instructed. Quentin, standing nearby, nodded in agreement. As Maja watched Patric’s retreating figure until he vanished with Quentin, she found a spot to sit and collect her thoughts. Patric was still Patric, but his choice to assume Ian’s persona—was it due to some peculiar treatment at the Mental Hospital? She checked her own phone again. No call from Ian. If