Chapter 3

I stood there in the bathroom, staring at him, my whole body shaking.

Years ago, after my mother was raped, my father said he couldn't stand the sight of her anymore. He filed for divorce not long after.

After that, my mother fell into a severe depression.

I took her to countless therapists. I begged her to hold on, for me. But in the end, she took an overdose of pills.

On my birthday.

That night, I locked myself in the bathroom, blood running down my wrist.

Adrian was the one who broke the door down. He was crying, screaming at me:

"Claire, don't do this!"

"I swear to you—I will be by your side for the rest of my life. I will never do anything to hurt you. Not ever."

I believed him.

For countless nights after that, those words were the only thing that kept me alive.

Now every one of those promises had turned into a blade, driving straight through my heart.

I clenched my fists. My nails cut into my palms.

I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to throw every word he'd just said back at him, one by one.

But I looked at the man I had loved for seven years, and all I felt was exhaustion.

In the end, all I could get out was one sentence:

"Adrian, let's break up."

Adrian was quiet for a few seconds. Then he let out a scornful little laugh.

"Claire, what game are you playing now? You think threatening me with a breakup is going to make me leave Mia?"

He grabbed his jacket and turned toward the door.

His hand paused on the handle. He looked back at me.

"I'm not leaving Mia. You'd better get used to that."

"You know what? Right now, you look like a lunatic. I'm not walking down the aisle with a lunatic."

"The wedding's postponed. When you calm down and apologize to Mia, then we can talk about it again."

He slammed the door behind him.

Like a slap across my face.

I threw up in the bathroom until tears were streaming down my cheeks. The diamond ring on my finger dug into my palm until it ached.

Then I went to the jewelry store.

The clerk examined the ring and looked up at me apologetically.

"Miss Bennett, this is a custom piece. It's engraved on the inside, too. I'm afraid we can't take it back."

I ran my finger along the inside of the band and stared at the string of numbers for a long time.

It was Mia's birthday.

In the bright, glittering jewelry store, I stood at the counter, wanting to cry and laugh at the same time.

The engagement ring I had treasured for years had another woman's birthday engraved inside it.

For seven years, everyone had known the truth.

I was the only one in the dark.

Laughably stupid.

The tears fell. My collar was soaked in seconds.

I was about to call Adrian and ask why he'd humiliated me even down to the engagement ring—when Adrian and Mia's joint Instagram post came up on my feed.

"Twenty years later—finally, us."

In the photo, their fingers were interlaced. The marriage license from City Hall sat beside their hands.

I knew what this was. This was Adrian's punishment.

Punishment for daring to break up with him.

In the comments, our mutual friends, his relatives, Mia's friends—all of them, one after another, leaving their congratulations.

Within minutes, people started messaging me.

"Claire, did Adrian just marry Mia? Did you two have a fight?"

Someone had already dropped screenshots into a local Facebook gossip group.

People were calling me a homewrecker. Shameless. That I'd known Adrian had a wife and still tried to steal another woman's husband for my own wedding.

My fingers trembled as I scrolled through comment after comment.

That's when my best friend called. Her voice was shaking with panic.

"Claire—has Adrian lost his mind? Your grandmother saw that post!"

"Get to the hospital. Now!"