Chapter 2

Chloe was only three years younger than Mark, putting her in the same age bracket as me.

Yet, Mark constantly referred to her as a "little one," as if she were a fragile child requiring constant protection from the slightest grievance.

In his eyes, I was forever the "independent and strong" PhD student, a woman who required no care at all.

As the lab dinner concluded, Mark personally escorted Chloe to her Uber before turning back to face me. His expression was heavy with accusation.

"Was that really necessary, Eve?" he asked. "You know Chloe has feelings for me. Making her watch that game in front of everyone was just cruel."

I remained silent, my body tensed against the rising discomfort in my torso.

"Look," he sighed, sounding weary. "We are getting married in two weeks. Can we please just keep things civil and dignified?"

My stomach felt as though it were filled with hot coals. I struggled to stand steady as a cold sweat broke out across my forehead.

Mark finally noticed the change in my complexion and knitted his brows.

"Is your gastritis acting up again?" he asked. "I told you not to drink. Wait here; I'll run to the CVS across the street and get you some medicine."

The 24-hour pharmacy was mere yards away. He had just reached the edge of the curb when his phone rang.

It was Chloe.

Her voice came through the speakers on speakerphone, thick with tears.

"Mark," she sobbed. "Something is wrong with this Uber. The driver... he changed the route and he won't stop the car. I'm so scared."

Mark didn't hesitate. He spun around and sprinted toward his own car.

"Eve, just call yourself a cab! Chloe is in trouble—I have to go!"

The tires screeched, kicking up a cloud of exhaust that settled over me.

I couldn't hold it back any longer.

I crouched by the greenery at the roadside and retched until my vision blurred.

It took an hour to get back to my South Bay apartment.

I swallowed my medication, washed my face, and fell into a heavy, fitful sleep.

When I woke at two in the morning, the glow of my phone screen illuminated the dark room with an Instagram notification.

I tapped it open, and the caption hit me like a physical blow.

"To my purest little angel, I will always be your guardian knight."

The accompanying photo showed Chloe's profile as she slept with her head resting on her arm.

The location tag read: Apartment, Boston.

A string of mutual friends had already liked the post.

Alex Miller was among them.

"Congrats, Mark! Looks like you finally made your choice!" Alex had commented.

Though phrased as a joke, the words were sharp and jagged given that our wedding was less than fourteen days away.

Nearly every colleague from dinner that night had double-tapped the image.

I wasn't supposed to see it.

Mark had set his privacy settings to be visible to everyone except me.

However, Chloe had shared the post to her Story and specifically set it to be visible only to me.

A wave of unprecedented exhaustion crashed over me.

Was there any reason to continue this relationship?

I collapsed back onto the sofa, drained of the will to move.

Then, the phone rang.

It was Mark's mother.

"Evelyn, dear," Karen Hanson's voice chirped. "How are the wedding preparations coming along? Do you need any help from me?"

The phrasing was telling. It was as if the wedding were my solitary burden, and they were merely external observers offering a hand.

I knew that if I actually asked for help, the offer would vanish.

Karen never called without an agenda.

"Karen, tell me what you want," I said bluntly.

"Well," she cleared her throat. "It's about your apartment."

My heart sank.

"Since you're moving in with Mark after the wedding, your place will just be sitting there empty, right? Kevin graduated last year and he's still looking for a suitable place to live. He isn't quite as... capable as his older brother. Mark mentioned that perhaps you could just give the apartment to Kevin to live in. What do you think?"

"Mark said that?" I asked.

Mark was selfish, but he usually had the pride of an Ivy League graduate. He usually considered himself above such blatant schemes for property.

Hearing my skepticism, Karen's tone sharpened instantly.

"Regardless of what he said, the fact is that you are an only child. Your parents already have that retirement house in Brooklyn; that will be yours eventually anyway. Why do you need to hold onto this apartment? The HOA fees and property taxes alone are over a thousand dollars a month. It's a waste. Just transfer it to Kevin. He can cover the overhead."

The greed was written plainly in her voice.

"And if I say no?" I countered.

"No?" Her voice turned shrill. "Do you still want to marry into our family or not? There are girls lining up to marry our Mark. You're nearly thirty, Evelyn. If you don't settle down now, any future pregnancy will be high-risk. If Mark doesn't marry you, who else is going to want you?"

A sudden, sharp laugh escaped my throat.

"Fine," I said. "Then let's not get married."

Karen was stunned into silence. "You—how dare you—"

I hung up.

Ending a seven-year relationship with a single click felt unexpectedly, wonderfully light.