Chapter 2

"Mr. Markman, the floor's cold."

Vivian's assistant held a hand out to me. "Get up."

The doctor walked past him into the ward, leaving him standing there alone in front of me.

"Daryl Anderson's situation is more complicated than it looks. He saved Ms. Zaslow's life. That's how the two of them met, out on one of her extreme sports trips.

"That man is dying. Ms. Zaslow made him a promise. She'd see the world in his place."

With his help, it took me several tries to get back on my feet. The sun was blazing outside the window, and yet I was freezing.

"Right. That's what everyone keeps telling me. Makes it sound like I'm the petty one in all this."

I pulled my hand free and braced myself against the wall instead, inching forward as the cold of the tile crept into my palm.

Just like Vivian's heart. No matter how long I held on, I could never warm it up.

I don't even remember how I got home. I ended up on the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling.

My phone lit up with a message. It was from Vivian.

Vivian: [Are you home yet? Still mad at me?]

I could picture exactly how she must have looked, typing that. Calm. Expressionless, probably.

Me: [No.]

Vivian: [I ordered you some flowers. The courier will drop them off. Don't forget to bring them in.]

Me: [What are the flowers for?]

Vivian: [To make it up to you.]

The doorbell rang the instant her message came through.

Ninety-nine roses sat waiting on the ground outside. I didn't touch them. More messages kept rolling in.

Vivian: [Did you get them?]

I shut the door, my face blank.

Out of every flower in the world, roses were the one I hated most.

They reminded me of someone. My stepmother.

On the day of my mother's funeral, she'd filled our house with them, as if she were staking a claim.

Vivian: [Put them in a vase and send me a photo.]

Vivian: [A full shot of the room. As soon as you can.]

I pointed my phone at a corner of the room and pressed the shutter without a second thought.

The conversation went dead quiet after that.

It hadn't felt like she was comforting me. It felt like she'd just been checking a box off a list.

I caught a bitter, salty taste at the corner of my mouth.

I never made a habit of checking anyone's social media. But this time, seeing the little red notification light up, I clicked into it before I even knew what I was doing.

The very first post was of my own house. More precisely, it was the exact photo I'd just taken.

Except the one who'd posted it wasn't Vivian. It was the man I'd been quietly sponsoring for years, the one whose congenital condition had been triggered by a bad fever back when he was a child.

I'd been funding him for six years.

I never imagined I'd been footing the bill for my girlfriend's first love.

The caption was short and simple. [I have a home of my own now, too.]

The post had more than just the photo I'd taken. There was a floor plan attached to it as well, drawn in his own hand. It was the design for my house.

A wave of nausea hit me out of nowhere. I bolted for the bathroom and doubled over the sink, dry heaving.

It was disgusting.

Tears ran down into the corners of my mouth, just as bitter as everything else.

I finally understood their so-called promise.

Daryl Anderson's birthday was February 14th. So Vivian meant to see the world two hundred and fourteen times over, in his place, so he could feel like he was part of every trip.

She'd tattooed his name over her heart. Every photo she held up in her hand was of him.

I didn't have a single one of those travel photos. Not one. His social media, on the other hand, had every last one of them.

They had loved each other, fiercely, all along. Even after they'd supposedly split up, neither of them could quite let go.

All those days I couldn't reach Vivian, she'd been checking in with Daryl every single day, letting him know she was safe.

My finger kept scrolling on autopilot. My mind had gone completely blank, with only one impulse left standing in it.

I needed to see Daryl.

But by the time I reached the sanatorium, the first thing I saw was Vivian's car.

She'd only just woken from her coma, and she'd already rushed straight here to see him.

Under the shade of a tree, Vivian sat in her wheelchair, wrapped tight in Daryl's arms, the two of them holding on to each other.

I stood off at a distance. I really did look like the outsider now.

The tenderness on Vivian's face was something I'd never once seen turned toward me.

"There, there. Don't cry. I'm fine, aren't I? I'll keep my promise to you. I always do."

I pulled out my phone and called her. Vivian hesitated, motioning for Daryl to stay quiet before she finally picked up.

"What is it?"

"Do you remember? You promised me that the moment you were back on your feet, you'd come meet my parents with me."

I stood at the gate, close enough to see her expression clearly. Close enough to see the confusion written across it.

"I'm hooked up to an IV at the hospital right now. How am I supposed to go with you? But don't worry. The second I'm discharged, I'll go with you, first thing. All right?"

"Don't bother."

She froze. "What do you mean, don't bother?"

"There's no need."

I said it again, slowly, so there'd be no mistaking it.

The hand holding the phone was shaking from how hard I gripped it.

"You don't have to marry me anymore."