Chapter 3

The next morning, I woke up and started packing.

It was only eight o'clock, but the room was as quiet as midnight.

I was halfway through folding my clothes when the lock clicked.

Graham pushed the door open.

He wore a pale gray shirt, but the air around him was saturated with perfume—

A sharp, spicy woody scent that hit my sinuses like a slap.

My nose stung instantly. My eyes watered.

He knew I had severe allergies. He'd never let anyone wear heavy fragrance around him.

I'd even given away my own treasured perfume bottles because of it—never wearing a drop.

But now, the scent clinging to him told me everything—

The person he cared about wasn't me anymore.

He paused when he saw the suitcase, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"Tessa?"

His voice was soft. "Are you packing for... a business trip? Where to?"

I nodded. "Something like that. Not far."

He visibly relaxed at my words,

As if I would always stay put, always be there waiting for him to come home.

He didn't know I never planned to come back.

He set a paper bag down on the entryway table. "I got you that cake you like. I meant to bring it last night, but it got too late."

I froze for a moment, then walked over to look.

It was a mango mille crêpe.

I'm severely allergic to mango.

He knew that.

On our very first date, he'd spent an entire night with me in the emergency room because of it.

After that, he'd baked my birthday cake himself every year, "just so you'd never accidentally eat mango again."

But now, he'd casually picked up a mango cake.

This was our three-year marriage.

He could keep a detailed list of every food Vivian couldn't eat, carry it with him like a talisman,

Yet forget the allergy that had once nearly sent me into shock.

I swallowed the wave of nausea and pushed the bag aside. "Thanks, but I can't eat this."

Graham frowned, the realization hitting him late. "Oh... sorry. I forgot. The hospital was chaotic yesterday. My head was all over the place."

Before I could respond, he grabbed some papers he'd left on the table,

"Vivian had another round of tests this morning. I need to get back to the hospital. I have to be there for her."

I nodded, my voice flat. "Go ahead."

He seemed unsettled by my calm but didn't question it.

He just stepped back, shrugging on his coat as he spoke:

"Get some rest tonight. I'll pick up a raspberry one for you instead. Don't be mad at me."

The door clicked shut behind him.

The moment it closed, the wooden-framed photo leaning against the wall fell,

Glass shattering everywhere.

It was a photo from that accident—that mission gone wrong.

We'd been stranded in a blizzard, temperatures plunging well below zero, the wind so fierce it threatened to rip us apart. I could barely speak through the cold.

He'd held me, wrapped his coat around me.

We'd survived that endless night with nothing but a broken piece of equipment and each other's body heat.

When the first light crept over the horizon, he'd pressed his forehead to mine and whispered:

"Tessa, we made it. As long as the sun keeps rising, I will never let go of your hand."

And now, the man who had once promised to "never let go"

Vanished from my future the instant that photograph shattered.

I stood there, staring at the shards for a long time.

Until my legs went numb. Then I crouched down and swept the glass into a trash bag, piece by piece.

The photo itself I threw away without hesitation.

Three years of marriage. For the first time, I saw clearly who had been holding on alone.