Chapter 1

A month before our wedding, my fiancé suddenly became too busy for anything.

Then I found his marriage certificate in his car, complete with a photo of him and the woman he had never gotten over.

I said nothing. I packed my suitcase and left for Bellavere.

He assumed I was throwing a tantrum. Ten days later, he finally called me.

The moment I answered, he snapped, "Where the hell have you been? My dad is in the hospital, and you are his future daughter-in-law. How can you be this irresponsible?"

His shouting sounded almost laughable to me. "Sorry," I said. "I'm not your father's daughter-in-law. I have no place at the hospital."

*****

Adam Carter said he would be swamped this month.

He was busy planning our wedding. Busy taking his company public. So busy he came home after midnight and never had time to answer my calls.

Today was the day of our wedding photo shoot. He never showed up.

The makeup artist and photographer hovered around me, smiling awkwardly as they asked when the groom would arrive.

I called Adam. No answer. I called again. Still nothing. On the third call, he declined it.

A message popped up on my screen: [I'm in a meeting. Stop making a fuss.]

The air conditioning in the studio was freezing, raising goose bumps on my skin.

I took off the heavy wedding gown, changed back into my own clothes, and apologized to the staff.

Their faces were full of pity and sympathy. I didn't need either.

I stepped outside into the glaring sunlight, hailed a cab, and went home. Our home. The place we had filled with wedding decorations, the place where we were supposed to begin our married life.

No one was there. Adam's suit jacket was draped over the couch.

I walked over and caught the scent of an unfamiliar perfume. It wasn't mine, and it wasn't his usual cologne either. It was sweet and cloying, with a heavy floral scent.

I picked up Adam's phone. The passcode was still my birthday. He hadn't even bothered to change it. How ironic.

His call history was almost suspiciously clean. His WhatsApp chats were the same.

He always said he had nothing to hide and that I could check his phone whenever I wanted. I used to believe him. Now the memory felt like a joke.

I opened his photos. There was one picture in the recently deleted folder. Adam was with another woman. They were leaning into each other, smiling brightly at the camera.

I knew her. It was Claire Mason, the woman Adam had never truly gotten over.

The photo had been taken outside City Hall.

My heart seemed to stop for a second. Then it started pounding so violently that I could feel it against my ribs.

I set the phone down and walked to the entryway. His car keys were sitting on the console.

Adam hadn't driven today. He had told me his car was at the shop for maintenance.

I grabbed the keys and went downstairs. His car was parked in its usual spot. It had never gone to the shop. Another lie.

I opened the passenger door and climbed into the seat I had occupied countless times.

I opened the glove compartment, looking for a bottle of water. Instead, my fingers brushed against a stiff document envelope.

I pulled it out. Inside was a certified marriage certificate. It bore two names: Adam Carter and Claire Mason.

Their photograph was attached to the document. Their heads were close together, both of them smiling. The marriage had been registered the previous Wednesday.

That day, Adam had told me he was traveling to another city for a three-day business trip. So he'd actually gone there to marry the woman he'd never gotten over.

Beneath the certificate was a folded sheet of paper.

I opened it. It was an ultrasound report with Claire Mason's name on it. She was 12 weeks pregnant.

All the warmth drained from my body at once.

So Adam hadn't been busy. It was simply time for me to disappear from his life.

I placed the marriage certificate and ultrasound report exactly where I had found them, closed the glove compartment, and left everything untouched.

Then I got out of the car, locked it, and walked back to the elevator.

The polished metal doors reflected my bloodless face. I wasn't crying. Not a single tear.

All I could think was that the past five years had been one long, ridiculous joke.

I opened the front door and looked around the apartment filled with our memories.

I looked at the artwork we'd chosen together, the flowers I'd grown on the balcony, and the cushions he'd bought me for the couch. Everything that had once felt familiar now made me sick.

I went into the bedroom, pulled out my suitcase, and started packing.

I packed my clothes, my books, my makeup, and everything else that belonged to me. I left nothing behind.

Adam and I had a cat named Muffin.

He came running over and rubbed against my legs, meowing as if he were asking where I was going.

I picked him up and placed him in his carrier.

"I'm sorry, Muffin," I whispered. "From now on, it's only you and me."

I placed my debit card for our shared household expenses and the spare key on the console by the front door, right beside Adam's car keys.

Then I pulled my suitcase behind me, picked up Muffin's carrier, and looked at the apartment one last time.

I closed the door. It shut behind me with a heavy thud, sealing off everything that had once been my life.