Chapter 2.

I slip the orange gown on, wanting something that would accentuate every detail of my body, and this dress is doing exactly that. I smile at myself in the mirror as my hands brush over the fabric, admiring the way it falls against my body.

I sit on my dressing chair and slick my hair back into a neat bun before applying my makeup, keeping it simple enough to let the dress and jewelry do most of the work.

I have only an hour left before Sam gets here, and I don't want to keep him waiting.

“Sophy…”

I turn toward Clare. She stretches her hand toward me, holding out my phone with a stern expression on her face.

I take it from her, and my eyes immediately go to the notification on the screen.

I won't be able to pick you up. I'm in a meeting right now and I'll likely finish late. I'll meet you there.

I take a long, deep breath.

“It's starting,” Clare mocks, burying her face back in her book.

“He's in a meeting, Clare. Cut him some slack.”

“I didn't say anything.”

I give her a look before turning back to the mirror, but the excitement I had felt a few minutes ago is slowly being replaced by thoughts I don't want to entertain. Clare's words keep replaying in my head, and for the first time tonight, I begin to wonder if maybe she has a reason to be suspicious.

No.

I shake the thought away.

Sam is just running late, he's a busy man.

After putting on the last piece of my jewelry, I pick up my bag, ready to go see the man I've loved for years and enjoy the birthday celebration he has prepared for me.

“Clare…”

She looks up from her book.

“Could I use your car?”

She gives me a knowing look.

“Since your wonderful boyfriend can't pick you up?”

I roll my eyes.

“Please don't start.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You were about to.”

She smiles and points toward the drawer. “Over there.”

“Thank you.”

“Just bring my car back in one piece.”

I pick up the keys, then turn toward her.

“I will.”

“Now tell me honestly. How do I look?”

She looks me over from head to toe, taking a little while before a small smile finally appears on her face.

“Gorgeous,” she whispers.

My face lights up immediately.

That's all the reassurance I need.

I leave the apartment and drive to the restaurant, trying not to let the strange feeling in my stomach ruin my excitement.

Providence looks nothing like the restaurants I'm used to. The moment I step inside, I'm surrounded by soft blue and green tones, dim lighting and elegant glass decorations hanging above the dining room, giving the entire place a quiet, almost underwater feel. Everything looks expensive without being overly flashy, from the neatly arranged tables to the staff moving quietly between them.

The dining room is filled with people dressed in clothes that look effortlessly expensive, and I suddenly become conscious of the dress I spent over an hour choosing.

I wish Sam were already here. At least then I'd have someone familiar beside me, someone who would make me feel less out of place in a room like this.

I check my wristwatch again.

9:00 p.m.

Still nothing.

No message. No phone call.

I've texted him several times and called more than once, but he hasn't answered any of them.

My chest begins to ache, and my stomach isn't helping either. I refused to eat before coming because I thought I needed to keep my stomach empty for dinner, but now I'm sitting here alone while almost everything on the menu looks ridiculously expensive.

I pick up my phone and dial his number again.

It rings.

And rings.

Then goes to voicemail.

I lower the phone slowly. I'll wait one more hour, then I'll leave. He's definitely going to have a lot of explaining to do.

In fact, I'm never going to speak to him again. He can explain himself to—

“Why are you blowing up my phone with all these calls?”

I raise my head.

Sam stands a few feet away from me, and before I even realize what I'm doing, I'm already on my feet.

I hurry toward him and wrap my arms around him.

“I thought you weren't coming.”

He stiffens in my arms.

“Well, I clearly told you I would be late, but you didn't even let me concentrate on my meeting. You just kept calling and calling—”

His voice is so loud that I slowly pull away from him. By now, almost everyone's attention is on us.

“It's fine. I'm sorry.” I lower my voice, suddenly embarrassed by all the eyes around us. “I'm sorry. Just sit down. Let's have dinner, like a couple.”

He stares at me.

"A couple?” he scoffs, as though the words themselves are ridiculous.

His expression changes, and the little smile I had been forcing onto my face disappears.

"I'm done with this.”

I stare at him.

“What?”

“I wanted to end this on a good note, but once again, you're making everything unbearable.”

A sharp pain shoots through my chest.

“What are you saying?”

“Sam…”

“I'm tired, Sophy.”

“No.” I shake my head, refusing to believe what I'm hearing. “You don't mean that. I know you don't mean what you're saying.”

He looks away.

“I do.”

My heart sinks.

I reach for his hand, but he pulls it away.

“Please don't do this.”

“It's over between us.”

“Please, Sam.”

“I should have ended this a long time ago.”

My vision begins to blur.

“But why?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.

“Don't call me again. I'm blocking your number.”

“Please, please don't do this to us.”

“Sam, please.”

He doesn't answer. He puts his phone back into his pocket and, without sparing me another glance, walks straight toward the door.

I stand there, frozen, watching him leave.

My ears begin to ring, slowly drowning out every sound around me until the only thing I can hear is the pounding of my own heart.

Then strength drains from my legs, and I collapse onto the floor, hot tears spilling down my cheeks while the people around me stare and murmur amongst themselves.

I had spent the entire day believing that this birthday would be different, that after five years, Sam had finally decided to make an effort for me.

This was supposed to be a birthday dinner with the man I loved, but instead, he walked out of the relationship I had spent five years holding on to as though it meant nothing to him.

I never thought my twenty-fifth birthday would become the worst day of my life.