Chapter 3

[Zita's POV]

Emilio strode over, his brows furrowed as his gaze landed on an open shoebox—the one holding the first pair of heels he'd given me after we got together. The soles were completely worn down, but I'd never had the heart to throw them away.

His expression darkened, and he demanded, "Zita, are you really going to cause a scene over a stupid ring?"

He kicked the shoebox aside.

I didn't even look up. "I'm just switching out my clothes for the season, that's all."

"We've been together for five years! I know what you're thinking! I already explained that I've only loaned the ring to Carlotta for a few days. I'll get it back from her soon. Do you really have to sulk over something like this? You weren't like this before!"

I didn't bother explaining. "Think whatever you want."

Irritation flickered in Emilio's eyes as he watched me. He stepped closer to me and softened his tone.

"Look, stop this, alright? It's our fifth anniversary tomorrow, and I booked your favorite restaurant. After dinner, we'll pick out a ring. As for the place in the High East Quarter, I'll have my assistant put down the deposit tomorrow. Happy now?"

He thought he'd already given me more than enough.

I looked at that familiar yet suddenly distant face. Then, I smiled and nodded. "Yeah. See you tomorrow."

Emilio sighed in relief and ruffled my hair. "That's my girl."

He had no idea I'd already tucked my plane ticket for tomorrow in my suitcase. The flight would take off tomorrow.

…

On the day of our fifth anniversary, Emilio left early in the morning for his family's firm.

Before leaving, he pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I'll come pick you up at 6:00 pm. Wear that red dress. It looks good on you."

The moment the door closed, I turned and walked into the walk-in closet. The red dress he'd mentioned was hanging in the most prominent spot.

Carlotta loved red, but I'd always preferred cool, clean shades of blue.

I tossed the dress into the trash and changed into a plain white T-shirt and light blue jeans. It was what I used to wear most back in the year I first met Emilio.

I dragged my two suitcases out the door and called a cab.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

"The airport."

As the car pulled away from the apartment building, I glanced back once. The lights still shone out the window, and the pot of rosemary I kept on the balcony was still there. I didn't take it with me.

My phone buzzed. It was a message from Emilio.

"Zita, sorry. I might have to cancel dinner tonight. Carlotta accidentally hit the curb while driving. She's terrified and is at the hospital now. Her parents are gone, so I have to stay with her. We can go look at rings in a few days, okay?"

I stared at the words on the screen and didn't bother replying.

After a while, he sent another text. "Are you mad? Don't be. I'll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise."

There it was again. Another promise to make things up to me.

I switched my phone to silent and shoved it into my bag.

On the way to the airport, I leaned against the window, watching the city I'd lived in for years blur past in the night.

My phone buzzed again. This time, the screen lit up with a social media update from someone I followed. I opened it and saw it was a post from Carlotta.

In the photo, there was a steaming plate of seafood pasta. The background was a white hospital sheet.

A slender hand was using a fork to twirl the noodles. On his hand was a watch that didn't match his status at all, but it was the one I'd spent a year saving up for to buy Emilio for his birthday.

It was Emilio.