Chapter 4Pulling the Plug

Gavin’s chest heaved. He stepped closer, his breathing jagged. I knew that sound. He was truly angry.

Smack.

A heavy hand struck my face. My left cheek swelled instantly.

He aimed for the left side, knowing I couldn't block it with my broken arm.

"Did the crash scramble your brain? Let me help you wake up."

He screamed the words, but I just smiled.

I didn't care anymore, but the tears fell anyway. My heart gave a dull throb of pain. I wiped the tear with my good hand and looked at him.

"Let's break up, Gavin. I'm tired."

"I had a lot of time to think in the hospital. We aren't right for each other. Forcing it won't make us happy."

...

After that day, the tension between us seemed to thaw—superficially.

He apologized, vaguely. But I knew it wasn't sincere. I was just biding my time until my arm healed enough to leave.

I treated him with icy indifference. No matter how many times he said sorry, it didn't matter. His actions had already pushed me out the door.

Gavin knew I was going to the hospital today to get the cast removed, so he skipped work.

He watched me packing a bag in the living room and assumed I was just organizing. He didn't know I was packing my life away.

"When your arm is better, let's retake the photos," he chirped, holding my good hand. "You like boats, right? Let's do a yacht shoot."

If he had done this days ago, maybe I wouldn't have canceled the wedding.

We drove out of the garage. I watched the rain streak against the glass.

It was raining like this the day of the accident.

Sophie called him three times during the drive. He pretended not to care, but I saw his eyes darting to the screen every time it lit up.

At the hospital, he sat on the bench, distracted.

When the cast came off, I felt reborn. I looked at my pale, shrunken arm and remembered the crash.

We walked downstairs. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Chloe, take an Uber home. There’s an emergency at the office."

"I promise I'll be home by six for dinner."

I knew it wasn't the office. It was Sophie.

I feigned concern. "Go. Hurry."

He jumped into the driver’s seat and sped off without looking back.

I stood there watching him go. He had never driven that fast for me.

I left the hospital, went to my company to finalize my resignation, and took a cab to Sea-Tac Airport.

While waiting at the gate, I checked my feed. Sophie had posted a picture of a scraped knee.

In the photo, Gavin was kneeling, carefully applying ointment with a Q-tip, his brow furrowed in deep concern.

I did exactly what I did before. I commented:

"Well, I wish you a lifetime of happiness. I won't be attending the wedding."

Gavin saw it. He blew up my phone.