Chapter 1Let Him Walk

This was the third time Lucas forgot my birthday.

I didn't throw a fit. Instead, I quietly cooked my favorite meal and bought an expensive ice cream cake I'd normally never splurge on. It was a quiet celebration for a day that apparently mattered to no one but me.

But when I stepped out of the shower, ready to finally enjoy my evening, I found the kitchen ransacked. The dinner I'd spent three hours preparing had been packed into insulated containers. Beside them, my cake lay ruined, half-smashed and melting on the counter.

Lucas finally looked up.

"Kate hasn't eaten all day," he said, barely glancing at me as he zipped up the insulated bag. "Her blood sugar crashed. I'm taking this to her. Don't wait up."

I watched his retreating back, the door clicking shut behind him. In that silent apartment, a cold certainty settled over me. I was done waiting.

* * *

Minutes after Lucas left, our landlord knocked on the door.

Mrs. Gable stood on the threshold, peering into the quiet apartment. "The lease is up at the end of the month," she said. "Are you two renewing or moving out? I need to know so I can list it if you're leaving."

Last month, I had asked Lucas if we should renew or look for a new place. At the time, his head had been bent over his phone, furiously typing a reply to Kate. When he finally looked up, his voice was laced with easy dismissal. "Whatever you want, babe. You decide."

Remembering his indifference, I looked at Mrs. Gable and said, "We won't be renewing. We'll be out by the end of the month. You can send the security deposit back to Lucas. No need to send it to me."

He had paid the initial deposit and the first month's rent when we moved in. It was only fair he got it back.

Mrs. Gable frowned in confusion. "But you two are getting married, aren't you? Why keep the finances so separate? It's all the same pocket, dear."

I just offered a polite, empty smile and said nothing.

Satisfied with the answer, she turned to leave, pausing to add, "Just make sure the place is completely cleared out before you hand over the keys. I want it clean for the next tenants."

I nodded. "Of course. I'll make sure of it."

Today was the twenty-eighth. I had exactly three days.

I pulled out my phone and messaged a local leasing agent who had helped me before. He replied almost instantly, asking if I was still looking for a two-bedroom apartment for the two of us.

"Just a one-bedroom," I typed back. "Just for me."

The typing bubbles danced for a long time before his reply came through: Did you guys break up?

The words made my chest ache with a dull, familiar numbness. When Lucas and I first started dating, the concept of breaking up felt impossible. Back then, my mind was constantly painting pictures of our future. Now, I couldn't even remember the last time I had let myself hope.

I bypassed his question. He sent another message: Need a moving company? I know a reliable one.

"Yes, please," I replied.

When's the move?

"Three days from now," I answered. Just enough time to pack up my life, let the lease run out, and quietly slip out of Lucas's world forever.

I confirmed the details and began pulling empty cardboard boxes from the closet. That was when my phone buzzed. It was Lucas.

"Hey, Kate loved the food you made," his voice came through the speaker, casual and demanding. "But her stomach is acting up now. Can you whip up a light soup and bring it over?"

Before I could even draw a breath, he added, "And don't put any green onions in it. She hates the smell."

I stared at the cardboard box in front of me, a heavy silence stretching over the line. "Lucas," I whispered, "do you know what today is?"

In our five years together, he had only celebrated my birthday twice.

The first time, he took me to Disneyland. Under the burst of midnight fireworks, he had slipped a delicate heart-shaped necklace around my neck and promised to love me forever.

The second time, I was away on a business trip. He had flown out to surprise me, holding a slightly lopsided cake he'd baked himself. I still remembered the warmth of his breath against my ear as he whispered, "Jane, no matter where you are, if you need me, I'll be there."

But by the third year, his promises evaporated. My birthday, May thirtieth, became nothing more to him than the anniversary of the day he met Kate twenty-three years ago.

Just as I expected, there wasn't a second of hesitation in his voice. "It's the anniversary of the day Kate and I met. Why?"