Chapter 1Left Hand, Right Hand

Eight years, six months, and twenty-five days.

That’s how long Landon and I were together. And then, we weren’t.

It ended because of his phone.

He placed it face down on the table while we were having dinner. The buzz of a notification vibrated against the wood, sounding like a countdown to the end of us.

I put down my fork. "Landon, I think we should break up."

The man across from me, the man I’d loved for nearly a decade, let out a breath he looked like he’d been holding forever. He didn't even bother with a token "why?"

"Okay," he said.

Just like that. The charade was over.

All because of a stupid, grand promise he’d made back in high school, in front of everyone at a pep rally.

"Chloe," he'd yelled into the microphone, "I will never, ever be the one to break up with you."

And he wasn't. He just waited for me to do it.

* * *

It took him less than ten minutes to pack his things.

It was like he'd already rehearsed it in his head, a mental checklist of what was his and what could be left behind. What was worth taking, and what was just sentimental junk.

Just like our relationship.

The cracks had been showing for months. But because of that damn promise, he kept playing the part of the devoted partner. The perfect, twenty-four-seven boyfriend. He’d bring me flowers, rub my feet, tell me he loved me.

His body could go through the motions.

His heart? Not so much.

I saw it in the little things. The way his lips would curl into a private smile when he was looking at his phone. The way he’d absentmindedly recommend a different brand of tampons at the store, saying, "This one has better leak protection," even though I'd used the same brand for years. He even started getting into cooking—fancy, complicated dishes I never liked.

I watched him, piece by piece, un-love me.

The final straw wasn't the phone. It was him forgetting the anniversary of my mom’s death.

So, I said the words.

And he agreed.

So quickly it felt like a dream. A nightmare.