Chapter 1

Michael Reed and I had been together for three years. It was a long-distance relationship: he was in Lakeview City, and I was here. For three years, video calls and daily good-morning and good-night texts were how we kept each other close.

I'd saved for two years, planning to fly to Lakeview City next month and surprise him. Today, while sorting my things, I found the birthday necklace he'd mailed last month. I picked up the package to put it away. Then I saw the sender's address.

It wasn't Lakeview City. It was this city, more precisely, 118 Riverside Avenue, Willow Park. I lived at 116 Riverside Avenue, Maple Grove. The address on the label was in the apartment complex right next to mine.

I stared at the shipping label for a long time. There had to be a mistake. Maybe he'd mailed it on a business trip, asked a coworker to send it, or the label printed wrong. I made a hundred excuses, but opened our chat history.

Three years. For three years, we'd video-called every day. His background was always the same study: cream walls, dark shelves, a pothos by the window. He said it was his one-bedroom rental in Lakeview City, and work kept him too busy to visit.

He said that once he got promoted and settled down, he'd come get me.

I believed him and waited three years. During that time, I turned down a kind coworker who brought me breakfast every day. When I said I had a boyfriend, he never appeared again.

Then there was the family-approved blind date; when I said I loved someone else, Mom ignored me for three days. Last was a college classmate who'd waited seven years, but my heart was already taken.

Seven years. He had waited seven years for me, and I had waited three for Michael. We were both waiting for impossible people.

Then I found Michael's message from last week: [Babe, I've gotta work late again today. Once things calm down, I'll come see you.]

For three years, it had always been the same line: "Once things calm down."

I set my phone down and picked up the shipping label again. 118 Riverside Avenue. Right next door. I stared at the address until my chest tightened, then finally decided to go see for myself.

Only one street separated Maple Grove from Willow Park. I'd passed the entrance countless times without ever going inside. Now, standing at the gate with my heart pounding, I slipped in behind someone leaving because I didn't have an access card.

Willow Park was an older complex than Maple Grove, built about a decade earlier. The six-story buildings were weathered, and a few big trees below spread their thick canopies across most of the sky.

Following the shipping label, I found Building 3 facing the main gate, with a small convenience store on the first floor and cases of bottled water outside.

I stood downstairs and looked up. Apartment 302 was the first window on the left of the third floor, its cream curtains drawn. I stood there, lost.

Then the building door opened. A man stepped out with his back to me, wearing a dark blue T-shirt and black pants, his slight hunch unmistakable. I'd seen that posture on video for three years. It was Michael Reed.

I almost called out, but something felt wrong. He shouldn't be here; he should be in Lakeview City, where just last night he'd complained about the heat.

Hiding behind a tree, I watched him walk toward the gate, head down, smiling at his phone as his fingers moved quickly over the screen.

Then my phone buzzed. It was his message: [Just got off work. Video call tonight?] I stared at him. He was less than fifty meters away, typing as he walked.

I looked from the message back to him. After sending it, he slipped his phone into his pocket and walked into the convenience store.

I didn't reply. Ten minutes later, he came back carrying a bag. As he passed the tree where I hid, I held my breath, but he didn't notice me.

Then he walked into the building and disappeared upstairs. That familiar back had entered the exact building printed on the shipping label.