Chapter 2

My voice was completely steady.

It was the last chance I was giving him.

He blinked, then broke into a warm smile, cupping my face in both hands like he was coaxing a child.

"Olivia. You know me. I've always wanted to challenge myself."

"This is my last wish before we get married. You wouldn't want me to carry this regret into our marriage, would you?"

I didn't pull away. But I didn't smile either.

"I connected with a few experienced hikers a while back," he continued. "Real professionals — they've all done high-altitude climbs before. Oh, and just so you know, the signal up there can be pretty bad, so if you can't reach me, don't panic."

His eyes drifted slightly to the side as he said that last part.

In the end, I nodded. "Okay."

He blinked — clearly surprised I'd agreed so easily. "You're not upset?"

"You said it yourself. Last wish before the wedding. I support you."

He smiled and leaned in to kiss my forehead.

I turned my head toward the strawberries and reached for one. He didn't notice the dodge.

Undeterred, he launched enthusiastically into his "route plan" — south col versus north ridge, Nepal, base camps. I ate strawberries and nodded along, smiling on the surface while laughing coldly inside. Impressive — he'd even rehearsed the details to make the whole act convincing.

Meanwhile, one sentence kept looping through my mind: *"The girl's nearly ten months along, she's been a mess."*

The girl. Who was she?

Ethan was the kind of man who'd always had women circling him — wealthy, handsome, born into privilege. I used to lie awake worrying I'd eventually be replaced. That fear was part of why I'd spent years pushing for marriage.

And now that I knew I actually had been replaced?

I felt nothing. Just a hollow, distant numbness.

I had no idea who she was, and I wasn't going to ask.

He talked for a long time, then tacked on a final promise: "When I come back, I'll bring you a stone from the foot of Everest. The sea of clouds up there is supposed to be breathtaking."

"Sounds nice," I said.

He went off to shower, satisfied.

I sat on the sofa and picked up my phone. I scrolled to my father's messages. The last one had been sent back when Ethan and I still hadn't set a date:

*That young man came by with the matchmaker again this year. Said he's still waiting on your word. He's been at this for seven years now, Olivia. If nothing else works out, maybe give him a chance.*

I remembered vaguely hearing about this man — the village's most infamous mystery. Allegedly, he'd "gotten into trouble" in the city years ago and never come back. Some whispered he'd been in prison.

Every single year, like clockwork, he'd send the same matchmaker to my family's door.

My father would say, "My daughter has a boyfriend in the city," and the matchmaker would smile pleasantly and leave — only to return the following year.

I'd always thought the man was eccentric. I'd never given any of it a second thought.

But tonight, reading that message, I suddenly saw it differently.

Seven years. Every single year, without fail.

A man who showed up year after year — quietly, persistently, without demands — was a hundred times more reliable than a man who whispered *"wait until after we're married, then everything will be settled,"* while secretly planning to vanish for a year to take care of someone else's pregnancy.

The sound of the shower ran in the background.

I lowered my head and typed a reply to my father:

*Dad, tell the matchmaker. Let him come this year.*

I locked the screen, rested the phone face-down on my knee, and stared at the ceiling.

Three years dating. Six years engaged.

Ethan always thought I was just "a little impatient."

He had no idea that I had passed impatient a long time ago.

I was done waiting.