Chapter 1My boyfriend came back from his trip with gifts for everyone—even the security guard got a fancy belt.
Me? The birthday bag I'd been talking about for two months? Forgot.
Then his secretary posts on Instagram with my bag: "Best boss ever!"
His comment? "Anytime."
I broke up with him right there.
"Over a bag? Seriously?" He laughed at me.
"Yeah. Over the bag."
His phone buzzed. "Tina's waiting for lunch. Get an Uber home."
He left.
I didn't beg. Didn't cry.
Hit send on the email I'd been sitting on: "Paris studio? I'm in. Tomorrow works."
Pulled off my ring. Dropped it on his desk.
"You actually dumped him?"
Sarah's call hit the second I walked out of Brendan's office.
"Yep."
"You two have been together since middle school. Nine years. And you're throwing it away over a purse?"
I stopped on the sidewalk.
"It's not about the purse."
Brendan spent a week in Paris for work. Before he left, I told him point-blank.
Don't forget my birthday bag.
He looked me right in the eye. I got you. I won't forget.
When he got back? His secretary scored a gift. The security guard in the lobby got a gift. Every single person at his company walked away with something from France.
Me? Empty-handed.
"Babe, I'm so sorry. The meetings were back-to-back. It slipped my mind."
"I'll get it next time, I promise."
Three months since the engagement. Seventeen broken promises.
The first time? Period cramps hit me like a truck.
I texted him. Can you grab Midol on your way home?
Yeah, no problem.
He stumbled in at midnight smelling like bourbon.
"Henderson wanted drinks after the pitch. I had a couple and totally forgot."
I didn't say anything. Just got him to bed and DoorDashed myself Taco Bell at 1 a.m.
Second time? My studio got hit with a rush of custom orders.
I was buried. Texted him around six. Can you bring dinner tonight? I can't leave.
Sure thing.
By eleven, my hands were shaking from low blood sugar. No food. No text.
When I got home past midnight, he was asleep in clean sweats.
"Crazy day. Passed out the second I hit the couch. My bad about dinner."
I stared at his fresh clothes. The empty sink. Didn't say a word.
Then came number three. Number eight. Number seventeen.
I stopped counting. Stopped expecting. Started ordering backup plans before I even asked.
Until I found Tina's Instagram.
Every other post? Her "incredible boss."
March 21:
Boss heard me complain about cramps ONCE and showed up with heating pads and Advil the next day. Dead. ?
April 7:
Photo at Catch LA.
Mentioned this place to my boss last week and he surprised me today. When a man LISTENS >>>
April 7th. The exact night I asked Brendan for dinner.
And today?
Brendan's back from Paris.
Tina's feed is flooded with the Celine bag he brought her.
"BEST BOSS EVER! You remembered from ONE conversation. Obsessed with you! ??"
Brendan's comment?
"Easy."
Same bag. Same brand. Same boutique I asked him to hit.
For me? Back-to-back meetings.
For her? Easy.
"I'm done, Sarah. Don't waste your breath."
She exhaled hard.
"And you still haven't told him about Paris?"
My throat tightened.
"Tonight. I'm telling him tonight."
Chapter 2
That night, I was on a video call with my Paris contacts when Brendan walked in.
The bridal studio had been chasing me for months—seven invitations, six rejections. All because of him.
Number seven? I finally said yes.
"My studio's covered. Give me two days and I'm on a plane."
"Finally!" Howard grinned through the screen. "You're too talented to stay stuck there. When you land, I'm showing you all of Paris myself."
"Paris?"
Brendan's voice came from behind me.
I spun around. Didn't even hear him come in.
"You're home? It's barely eight."
The last three months, eight o'clock meant he was still with his assistant. Every night.
He blinked at me.
"Why do you sound surprised?"
Before I could answer, he brushed past me and started digging through my desk drawer. Grabbed two concert tickets.
"Oh right—Tina bought me lunch today, so I'm taking her to this show tonight. Returning the favor."
Then, casual as hell:
"Don't overthink it. Just being polite."
I kept quiet.
Just stared at those tickets in his hand.
Purchase date: yesterday.
Not last-minute. Planned.
Whatever. We were done tonight anyway. He could take whoever he wanted.
Still... my chest tightened. Eyes stung.
"Hey. Do you know what today is?"
He squinted at me like I'd asked a trick question.
"What? You're not on your period yet."
"I'm late. Gotta run."
Started for the door.
"Brendan!"
He stopped.
I forced a smile.
"Grab me a cake on your way back. Matcha."
He paused. Something clicked.
"Oh—yeah, sure thing."
"And when you get home, we need to talk. For real this time."
"Got it."
Door shut.
I turned back to my laptop.
"Sorry about that. Where were we?"
He forgot.
My birthday.
Two months ago when he asked what I wanted, I kept it simple. Two things.
That bag I'd been wanting forever. And tickets to this concert.
Didn't get the bag.
Now he's taking her to my concert.
Can't even remember my damn birthday.
Fine. After tonight, I'll be in Paris.
And I won't have to see his face ever again.
Chapter 3
That night, Brendan never came home.
I fell asleep waiting on the office couch.
In my dream, I saw seven-year-old Brendan holding a stick he'd found on the ground, standing between me and a snarling dog. His whole body was shaking, but he wouldn't move.
"I got you, Lily. Don't be scared."
Then I saw eighteen-year-old Brendan. His face was bright red, stumbling over every word.
"So... would you maybe want to be my girlfriend?"
"I swear—you'll always come first. No matter what. I promise."
I'd looked down, my face burning hot.
"Okay. I believe you."
Twenty-five, he proposed.
Twenty-seven, we had our engagement party.
Now here I was, passed out alone on a couch, waiting to break up with him.
My phone buzzed. Text from Brendan.
Too late for Tina to get an Uber. Dropping her off first. Don't wait up.
I started typing.
What about my cake? You forgot again, didn't you?
My finger hovered over send. Then I deleted it, word by word.
Okay.
Sent.
I turned over, using my arm as a pillow and closed my eyes.
When I woke up, my sleeve was soaked through.
Next morning, I found myself in bed somehow.
After blinking away the confusion, I walked out to the kitchen.
Brendan was at the stove. A giant cake sat on the table.
"Oh, you're up."
He barely glanced at me.
"Why'd you crash on the couch? I had to carry you to bed. My back's still killing me."
He was grinning like it was some cute story. Like we were still fine.
My chest tightened. For half a second, I almost smiled back.
I walked over and reached for the cake. My voice came out quieter than I meant.
"Sorry, I just dozed off. Wait—did you get this last night? It's been sitting out—"
"Don't touch it!"
He slapped my hand away. Hard. My knuckles burned red instantly.
"That's for Tina. She mentioned wanting cake last night, so I got up early to grab one."
"I did get you milk though. It's in the fridge."
I pulled the door open.
One bottle of strawberry milk stared back at me.
When I was eighteen, Brendan gave me expired strawberry milk by accident.
I spent three days in the hospital with food poisoning.
He'd been a wreck. Held my hand and cried until his eyes swelled shut. Made me swear I'd never touch the stuff again. Made himself promise to keep me away from it forever.
Now he'd forgotten that too.
I stood there holding the fridge door open, cold air hitting my face.
Finally, I closed it.
Brendan looked over and frowned.
"You're not drinking it? Tina recommended that brand."
"I don't drink strawberry milk."
"Since when?"
"Since I was eighteen. Because of you."
He paused for a second. Then shrugged it off.
"Huh. I must've forgotten."
"Yeah. You must've."
