Chapter 1I flew back right before New Year's without telling Ryan.
Surprise proposal—that was the plan. Ring already burning in my pocket.
I stopped at the florist downstairs from his office. While I was picking roses, some woman next to me was bragging loud enough for the whole store to hear.
"Girl, he wrecked me. Eight rounds at the gym—couldn't even walk straight after." She giggled like she'd won the lottery.
Her friend snorted. "Yeah, right. Pics or it didn't happen."
The woman whipped out her phone, smirking. "We're seeing my parents tonight. Babe already bought us a house—put the down payment and everything."
I glanced at her screen.
My stomach dropped.
Because the guy in that photo?
That was Ryan.
My boyfriend.
Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me.
"Babe, where are you? I've been standing here forever."
The woman answered her phone, her voice dripping with sugar.
I stood there gripping unpaid roses, frozen.
My heart hammered. Brain went static.
I texted Ryan, one last stupid hope:
[It's New Year's Eve. You still at work?]
The woman giggled into her phone. "I see your car. Coming out now."
Ryan's reply popped up instantly:
[Big meeting. About to hand in my phone. Grab yourself something good tonight, okay?]
Twenty-eight years. High school sweethearts to now.
When his startup was dying, I got money from my dad to save his ass.
Once he made it, he gave me his credit card. PIN? My birthday.
"Everything I have is yours."
Last week on FaceTime, he was showing me house blueprints, talking about our future.
"Once we're married, I'll take care of you forever."
Yeah. Sure.
The woman hung up, grabbed her bag of fancy cherries, and click-clacked out in heels.
I followed. Ducked behind a corner like some psycho.
Black Audi A6 at the curb.
Ryan bought the same model years ago. I maxed out three cards for that car.
The day we got it, he spun me around and promised:
"Passenger seat's reserved for my wife. Forever."
The window rolled down.
Pink lumbar pillow in the passenger seat.
And there he was.
Ryan.
I'd loved that face for twenty-eight goddamn years.
Couldn't breathe.
On our calls, he always looked dead tired—work's killing me, babe—but right now? Full smile. Eyes soft as hell.
"Daddy!"
Some three-year-old came barreling out, straight into Ryan's arms.
Ryan scooped him up, tossed him in the air.
"There's my guy! Miss Daddy?"
"Yeah!" The kid squealed, hugging his neck.
I stared.
"Childbirth's too painful. I can't put you through that."
That's what he told me. Got a vasectomy to prove it. Right in front of me.
Bullshit.
The woman slid up, hooked her arm through his. "It's freezing. You're gonna make him sick."
Ryan set the boy down, grabbed her bare hands, blew on them.
"You're right. Sorry. Get in."
She reached up, fixed his scarf.
My scarf. The one I spent half a winter knitting.
Perfect little family. Mom, dad, kid.
They got in the car. Doors closed. Smooth. Practiced. Like they'd done it a thousand times.
And I stood under a streetlamp in the snow like a complete idiot.
Rose thorns had already torn through my palm. Blood dripped onto white ground.
I dialed him. Hands shaking.
"Sorry, the person you are trying to reach is on another call..."
Chapter 2
Red taillights disappeared down the street.
My phone buzzed.
Ryan again:
[Just got out. Exhausted. Still gotta write up meeting notes. Go to sleep, babe. Don't wait up. Love you.]
The guy who swore he'd never lie to me was texting me bullshit without missing a beat.
Twenty-eight years, and I never knew him at all.
When I first moved abroad, I'd buy the cheapest flights just to see him.
Twenty-hour layovers. Coach seats that wrecked my back.
Got to his apartment once, asked him to help with my bags.
"I just got off work. I'm dead. Just bring them up yourself—good exercise."
I felt bad for him back then. Thought he was working himself to death. So I hauled two suitcases up six flights of stairs.
Guess he does know how to be thoughtful.
Just not for me.
I stood in the cold until my legs went numb.
Caught a cab. Checked into some random hotel.
Room was warm, but I felt frozen to the bone.
I grabbed my phone. Made a burner account—no name, no photo, nothing.
Spent two hours scrolling through local profiles, using what I'd overheard at the flower shop.
Finally found her.
Username: YearsGoBy
Her profile banner? A guy cooking in a kitchen. Back turned.
Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. That mole on the back of his neck.
Ryan.
I opened her timeline.
A whole year of happy family bullshit.
May 20: [Hubby took us to Disneyland! Baby cried during fireworks but Daddy was so sweet calming him down ❤️]
That day, I'd ordered him a custom keyboard as a surprise.
Waited until midnight for a reply. Got nothing.
Next day: "Sorry babe, product launch. Pulled an all-nighter. Phone died."
Yeah. He pulled an all-nighter at Disneyland.
August 15: [Spent the weekend car shopping with hubby. He said as long as me and baby are comfy, that's all that matters. Passenger seat = MY seat ??]
I FaceTimed him that day. Heard noise in the background.
"Client dinner," he said.
I heard a woman laughing. Asked about it.
He exploded.
"I'm busting my ass for OUR future and you're gonna accuse me of cheating?!"
November 11: [Hubby came back from his trip with a full La Mer set ? Love you babe!]
Around that time, he said cash flow was tight. Borrowed fifty grand.
"It's for payroll. I'm screwed without it."
I sent it immediately. Even threw in an extra ten for his expenses.
And today…
My stomach lurched.
I messaged her, hands shaking:
[Ryan's your husband? You know he's engaged, right?]
She replied instantly.
A six-second video.
I opened it.
Dim lighting. Heavy breathing. Bed creaking like it was about to collapse.
Shaky footage of Ryan—shirtless, back covered in scratches, sweat sliding down his spine.
Video cut off.
I went cold.
We'd been together for years. He always refused sex before marriage.
I thought it was sweet. Thought he was a goddamn saint.
Now I'm staring at this video of him going feral, and I don't even recognize him.
Another message came through.
A photo this time.
Ryan asleep in her arms. Face relaxed. Peaceful as hell.
My stomach twisted violently.
I bolted to the bathroom and dry-heaved over the toilet until I couldn't breathe.
Chapter 3
One hit after another. My body finally gave out.
Before I could even get off the bathroom floor, sharp pain tore through my stomach.
I curled up on the tiles, cold sweat soaking through my shirt.
Old problem. Acute gastritis.
Junior year of college, same thing happened in the middle of the night.
Ryan ran two miles in flip-flops to get me medicine, then climbed the fence to drop it off at my dorm.
He stayed outside in the freezing cold all night, texting me every hour: You okay? Feeling better?
Now that pain just felt like a sick joke.
I dragged myself into a cab and went to the nearest ER.
The emergency room was packed, but I felt completely alone.
The doctor pressed on my abdomen and frowned.
"This is serious. Could be appendicitis about to rupture. You need surgery. Is your family here?"
Family.
Through the fog in my head, I dialed the number burned into my brain.
It rang.
And rang.
Just when I thought it'd go to voicemail, he picked up.
"Hello?"
In the background: a kid screaming. A woman's soft voice trying to calm him down.
"Ryan..." My voice came out hoarse, barely there. "I'm back. I'm at the ER. Doctor says I need surgery..."
Panic in his voice. Fake panic.
"You're back? Why didn't you tell me? I'm out of town on business—there's no way I can get there in time."
Lies.
Always fucking lies.
"Out of town."
I closed my eyes. Tears slid into my hair.
"Out of town where?"
"I'm in… I'm in the next city over. Look, I gotta go—something urgent just came up with the project."
Then I heard her.
Clear as day.
"Ryan! Hurry up—baby's running a fever! Go get the car!"
Her voice hit me like a slap.
Ryan must've covered the phone.
"I know! Stop yelling!"
Then back to me:
"Babe, I really can't leave right now. It's an emergency. Just get a nurse or call your parents. I gotta go."
Click.
Dial tone.
I stared at my phone, listening to the endless beep.
Tears finally broke.
When I was five, I fell off a swing and scraped my knee. Ryan carried me three miles to the clinic, crying the whole way.
"Don't be scared, I'll protect you forever."
That promise got me through every lonely night abroad.
Turns out it was bullshit.
The doctor came back with a consent form.
"Did you reach your family? If not, you can sign yourself, but there are risks..."
I wiped my face, grabbed the pen, and scrawled my name with shaking hands.
"I'll sign."
As they wheeled me into the OR, I hit send:
[Ryan, we're done.]
