Chapter 3

Or the fact that under every single one of Tessa's social media posts, William never missed a like, never failed to leave a comment.

He could send Tessa long voice messages when he had insomnia at two in the morning, but in those moments, he never once thought of me.

It felt like I had swallowed a handful of broken glass.

That night, William didn't come back to the bedroom.

He stayed in the study, talking to her all night, their conversation punctuated by bursts of synchronized laughter.

The next morning, I left a note on the console table in the entryway.

Before I wrote it, I glanced at the calendar on my phone. Only three days left of the fifteen-day countdown.

[See you at the bridal shop.]

[There's something I need to discuss with you.]

He could ignore voice messages and pretend not to see messages.

But this was a place he had to pass before leaving. A note, in black and white. Surely he couldn't pretend not to see this.

But I had forgotten that some people aren't blind; they just choose not to see you.

The bridal shop was on the west side of town, its floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto an old, cobblestone street. I sat on a velvet sofa, watching couple after couple walk in hand-in-hand, and then leave, smiling.

The shop assistant refilled my glass of lemon water three times.

Finally, as the sky darkened, the manager approached, a look of unease on her face.

"Miss Miller, we're... about to close."

Her hesitant politeness was more humiliating than outright pity.

I smiled, picked up my bag, and walked out.

I wandered the streets aimlessly, my thumb instinctively swiping open Tessa's social media feed again and again.

The latest post, from half an hour ago.

[A perfect day.]

The accompanying photo was from the VIP box at the polo match. On the edge of the frame was a hand wearing a mechanical watch. It was William's.

If moving my things out of the apartment was the first test I had set for him, this time, I wasn't even going to give him a second chance.

On the way back, the car was stopped at a red light as it turned onto the street below our apartment building.

My eyes drifted to the terrace of the open-air bistro across the street. It was a place William and I used to go to often.

The figure with his back to me was all too familiar.

Tessa sat across from him, gesturing animatedly.

Then Tessa looked up and saw me in the car. William followed her gaze and turned his head.

Amidst the lights and chatter, a complicated tension settled between the three of us, as tangible as the soft strains of the violin.

"Charlotte, come sit here!"

Tessa was the first to react, quickly pulling out an empty chair and warmly beckoning me over.

"How did the fitting for that French-style wedding dress go today?"

She feigned nonchalance, trying to smooth over the situation.

William's fingers, holding his wine glass, stiffened almost imperceptibly.

Before I could speak, William immediately waved over a waiter.

"Another white truffle pasta, a beef carpaccio, and a bottle of sparkling water."

I knew what he was doing. It was a guilt offering.

This was his way of extending an olive branch, a way that didn't require a spoken apology.

The restaurant was efficient, and the fragrant pasta was soon served.

"Eat it while it's hot. It's the pasta you always like."

I stared at the expensive dish, not moving.

William frowned. "What's wrong? I thought you loved white truffles."

Beside him, Tessa covered her mouth and let out a small laugh. "You have such a bad memory. I'm the one who loves white truffles."

William froze for a second, then scratched the back of his neck and turned to me, his face full of apology.

"Babe, I'm so sorry, I got them mixed up…"

I knew he hadn't gotten us mixed up. He had simply never known.

For seven years, I had always been the one to accommodate his tastes, and he had taken it for granted.

And not only had William forgotten what I liked, he had also forgotten my severe allergy to white truffles. The kind that lands you in the hospital.

But then, what else had he forgotten? This was just one more thing on the list.

I lowered my eyes and picked up my silver fork, twirling the pasta.

Right there, in front of him, I ate every last bite of that fragrant dish.

Late that night, the allergic reaction came as expected. My body was on fire, my skin breaking out in large, terrifying red welts.

As I stumbled out of bed to find my anti-allergy medication, the kitchen light was on.

I thought William had finally realized something.

But he was just getting a glass of water. He walked right past me.

"What are you looking for, rummaging through everything in the middle of the night?"

He asked casually, his tone lazy. He didn't even turn his head.

He took his water back to the bedroom, not waiting for my answer.

He didn't care about anything that was wrong with me.

Clutching the bottle of prescription medication, I sank weakly onto the cold hardwood floor, tears blurring my vision.

At that moment, our seven-year relationship was dead. Whatever love I had for William was gone.

That night, I opened my phone and, one by one, I canceled everything related to the wedding: the dress, the venue, the engagement ring.

By the time I canceled the last item, the clock had just struck midnight.

I quietly watched the time change on my screen. The countdown to my departure was down to its final twenty-four hours.