Chapter 1The Vanishing Stocking

On Christmas, our fifth year together, I tore apart the house looking for a missing stocking—the one holding the custom engagement ring I’d bought him. Then the police called.

Vincent had been in a bad fight. I hurried to the station, signed him out, and saw his face bruised, smelling of cheap whiskey. He stayed silent about what happened.

Later, his phone lit up with messages from a female colleague, Erin:

Vincent, thank you for standing up to my ex-husband. Without you these past months, my son and I wouldn’t have made it.

Leo loves the stocking you gave him. He waits for “Daddy Vincent” every day. Give us a family.

Enraged, I threw the phone. We fought bitterly. I was hysterical; he called me heartless. Finally, he promised to transfer Erin to another team and cut all contact.

And it seemed he had—their work chats were strictly professional.

Until I found the hidden space on his phone.

They’d just moved their conversations to a private account, full of photos with Erin and her son, all warmly congratulated. Scrolling back to Christmas night, I saw her message: I found a ring in the stocking. Is your girlfriend proposing? I can return it.

He replied: Don’t. Pretend you never saw it. I’m not ready to marry.

Fine. He’d get his wish. After five years, it was time for me to go home.

* * *

Vincent was busy in the kitchen.

“Chloe, I’ve reheated everything a few times. It might not taste great anymore.”

“Tell me what you want, I’ll order something. Or I can take you out. That new Japanese place on the corner is still…”

He turned and saw my tear-filled eyes.

His expression softened instantly.

“Hey, come on. Don’t be like that.”

“You’re the most understanding girl in the world, right?”

I pulled away from his touch, my voice cold.

“Get the Christmas stocking back.”

Vincent’s smile froze.

He tore off his apron, balled it up, and threw it at my feet.

He pointed a trembling finger at my face for a moment before forcing out a single, grit-toothed word. “Fine.”

He made the call.

Erin said her son had accidentally ripped a seam in the stocking.

“I’m so sorry. Tell me how much it was, and I’ll pay you back.”

Vincent looked like he was about to lose it.

One Christmas stocking. A never-ending drama.

“It’s fine,” he said into the phone. “Chloe’s just throwing a little tantrum. I’ll buy her a new…”

“It’s not the same, Vincent,” I cut in.

Suddenly, he smashed the phone against the wall.

It exploded into pieces, and a few shards flew out, cutting my arm and drawing blood.

His voice boomed.

“What the hell is your problem today?!”

“It’s a damn Christmas stocking, Chloe! Could you be any more obvious about your grudge against Erin?”

I stared at him, stunned.

Vincent pulled a wad of cash from his wallet and threw it in my face.

The bills scattered, and among them were three ticket stubs from an amusement park.

“Is that enough?”

He pulled out a credit card.

And threw it at me.

“IS THAT ENOUGH?!”

“I’M PAYING YOU BACK FOR HER!”

My ears were ringing.

In six years, this was the first time Vincent had ever been truly angry with me. He looked vicious, like he wanted to devour me whole.

A dull ache bloomed in my chest. I was so hurt I couldn’t speak.

All I could do was fumble through my phone’s photo album, desperately searching for the proof—the evidence from five years ago when he’d promised to marry me on this very day.

He was the one who had forgotten.

“That’s enough. Let’s both just cool off for a night.”

Vincent pushed my phone away.

“Chloe, you need to take a long, hard look at your own jealousy.”

The door slammed shut.

I started dry-heaving, my body convulsing uncontrollably.

I clutched the fabric over my heart.

It was the only thing that seemed to ease the feeling of suffocation.

When the tears finally stopped and I could breathe again, I pulled myself off the floor and started packing my few belongings.

I had arrived six years ago, full of courage and alone. I would leave six years later, just as alone.

Erin posted on her private account.

The caption read: 【The happiest Christmas ever.】

The photo was taken at an upscale restaurant. Vincent was holding her son, and Erin was nestled against his side.

While I had been gone, they had gone out for a feast.

The table was laden with food.

The dishes Vincent had been reheating in the kitchen were their leftovers.

Including a shrimp dish—Erin’s favorite, and a deadly allergen for me.

He hadn’t even thought to pick them out for me.

Vincent’s assistant had commented:

“Whoa, that was fast. Erin’s charm is no joke.”

“And to think Vincent is always going on at work about how he’s not the marrying type. Guess he fell for her in the end.”

The screen went dark, reflecting my ashen face.

My hands were shaking as I packed the last of my things.

At the very bottom of my suitcase was the bus ticket from my journey to Chicago six years ago.

A 32-hour ride.

But my six years of devotion had never been real to him.