Chapter 1

After ten years with Damon, we were finally getting married.

But since he was swamped with work, I had to handle all the wedding arrangements on my own.

While driving to pick up the wedding car, the sunlight hit my eyes, and before I knew it, I'd crashed straight into a tree stump.

Instinctively, I called Damon. The phone rang for forty seconds before he picked up.

Before I could get a word out, he just said he was busy and would call me back later.

The moment he hung up, suddenly, I didn't want to marry him anymore.

*****

The thought of calling off the wedding had gradually taken root ever since I'd started handling everything on my own.

My parents came along to check out the wedding car, and immediately bombarded me with advice, nagging me not to throw a tantrum.

I was stunned for a second, then straightened the scooter without saying a word.

My mom, who was helping me lift the scooter, shot me a frown, half annoyed, half puzzled.

She said, "Honey, you used to go on and on about marrying Damon, and now that the date's set, you just want to call it off?

"Sure, you fell, but Damon said he'd call you back later. You're not a kid anymore. You can't expect him to drop everything for every little thing."

In her eyes, Damon was the perfect son-in-law, successful, good-looking, and always polite.

To her, it was totally understandable that he couldn't rush over because of work when I fell.

But with the temperature soaring over 105°F, the crowd that had gathered around me felt like an airtight wall, suffocating me.

And the one who was supposed to be my shelter, my would-be husband, couldn't even spare me a single minute of his time.

If I were going to handle everything all alone for the wedding, what was the point of getting married at all?

Planning the wedding wasn't all sweetness and light, but it was more like poison wrapped in sugar.

There was the makeup arrangement, booking the hotel, choosing the menu and drinks, sending out invitations, and decorating our new home.

Every single task felt like a heavy, waterlogged blanket on me, one layer after another, making it harder to breathe.

And Damon, who was supposed to be with me through it all, was basically invisible. He just kept working, clocking in at the office, and hanging out with his friends as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Getting married felt like a one-person show, and honestly, I'd had enough of performing all by myself.

Seeing my tear-filled eyes, my mom, normally so resolute, lost her edge and just sighed deeply.

She said, "Alright. As long as you won't regret it."

I couldn't tell if it was a compromise or something else altogether.

It was just like ten years ago, when I made that bold decision to leave my parents and follow Damon across the country to Leristo.

Back then, they squeezed my hand tight and told me, "Angie, as long as you won't regret it, that's all that matters."

Now, as I watched my parents walk away, looking so much older than they had been a decade ago, I couldn't help but ask myself how I had ever managed to leave them and choose Damon instead.

After I saw my parents off at the station, I couldn't even straighten my leg as I tried to walk out. That was when I realized I hadn't made it out unscathed after all.

On the back of my left calf, where I couldn't see, a gash ran nearly down to my ankle. The wound was deep, raw, and bloody, with muscle and bone showing.

Under the brutal over 105°F heat, the wound swelled and festered, sweat mixing in and making the pain worse.

While the doctor disinfected and bandaged my wound, he furrowed his brows and rebuked me for not taking proper care of myself.

He asked, "Seriously? With a cut this long, you didn't feel any pain at all?"

I just stared at my bleeding leg and shook my head slightly.

I'd never been sensitive to pain as a kid, and after growing up, Damon was always there for me. Whenever something happened, he'd show up. So over time, I pretty much forgot what it felt like to get hurt.

Habits really were terrifying.

As I was discharged from the hospital, Damon finally called, as late as always.

His voice came through, deep and cold, same as ever. "The wedding planner called me. Did you cancel the wedding car?"

"Yes," I said.

I sounded just as indifferent as he.

Damon paused for a moment.

I could practically see him in my mind right then, phone pressed to his ear, probably looking distant and distracted the way he always did.

He was probably frowning, trying to figure out why I was acting up again.

"Angie," he said.

The next second, his cold, impatient voice came through the crackling phone.

It didn't escape me. There was that familiar edge to his tone, barely holding back his annoyance.

Just like always, saying my name was his way of giving me a moment to swallow my feelings and back down.

And so, I did what I always did. I swallowed it all, refusing to get angry, hurt, or show any sign of complaint.

If I didn't, the cold silence would just drag on, and in the end, I'd always be the one backing down.

Absentmindedly, my gaze landed on the battered scooter parked right outside the hospital.

Earlier, the collision had crushed the basket, warped the headlight, and there, on one bent piece jutting out, one could still make out a smear of blood.

It sat abandoned in the far corner of the hospital's parking lot. No one cared about what it had been through, or remembered how, when I first got it, I wouldn't even let it splash through the tiniest puddle.

For once, I dropped the usual accommodating act and, in a quiet voice, I said, "Damon, let's break up."