Chapter 1

I used to think that love for ordinary people was like a gentle stream, steady and slow. As long as we kept going, we'd grow old together.

Mandy and I had been married for five years. We were financially comfortable, our life was decent, and we'd never had a single screaming match.

But then, one day, I saw a draft message on her phone that she never sent. That was when I realized the truth behind our polished life. It wasn't that she didn't want to express herself. Her love was just never meant for me.

I decided to let go. On the marriage contract we once promised would last a lifetime, I was the one who finally put an end to it.

We vowed to grow old together, but she walked away before the story was over. So I gave her freedom and held on to the last bit of my dignity.

*****

When Mandy walked in, she brought the chill of the night with her. She casually hung her pricey handbag on the rack, then turned to face me, her eyes as empty and cold as a frozen lake.

"You're still awake?" she asked.

I sat on the couch, gripping the signed divorce papers. The living room was dim, just a floor lamp casting a soft, yellow glow over her elegant face. She really was beautiful. Even at thirty, her skin was flawless.

She had the kind of confidence that came from always being in control, which made her seem like a flower blooming on a frozen tundra.

"I was waiting for you," my voice barely above a whisper.

Mandy Warren walked over and sat down across from me. She sat perfectly upright, legs crossed, a glimpse of her toned calf showing beneath her skirt. She was always so composed. She never lost her cool, whether at work or at home.

"If you've got something to say, just say it. I have a meeting tomorrow," she said, checking her watch.

I slid the divorce papers to her.

Mandy glanced at the title, her brow flickering for a moment before her expression quickly returned to normal. She didn't shout or break down. She just looked up at me, calm and collected.

"What's your reason?" she asked.

"I'm tired," I replied, looking into her eyes.

My reflection showed in her eyes, but I knew her heart was crowded with so many things. My shadow was just a barely noticeable speck among them.

Mandy gave a small, self-deprecating smile. She reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers long and elegant, her nails a healthy shade of pink.

"Owen, our finances are solid, and life is steady. So what do you mean by 'tired'?" Mandy asked.

"I mean your indifference that goes on forever," I said, getting up and moving to the window.

Outside, the city lights sparkled. Under each one, there might be a warm family. But not here. Every piece of furniture in this place was handpicked by her. They were expensive, but lifeless.

Mandy stood up and came over, stopping just behind me, keeping the kind of distance one would have with a stranger.

"I always thought you were satisfied with how things were. I never meddled in your social life, and I gave you all the respect you deserved. I know I can't give you the kind of emotional connection you want, but I thought we had a silent understanding," she said.

"That silent understanding? I was the only one keeping it alive," I said, turning to face her. "Mandy, do you even remember the last time you hugged me first?"

She froze. She stood there for a long moment, like she was trying to dig through her memories. But in the end, she just gave up. Her logical mind always seemed so clumsy when it came to feelings.

"I can change," she said, her tone businesslike, as if she were negotiating a contract.

"No need. Go ahead and sign it," I said, handing her a pen.

Mandy took the pen, her fingertips lingering on the paper. She kept her head down, and I could see her long lashes quivering. It was the first crack in her composure tonight.

"Owen, you'll have a hard time finding another woman like me," she said.

"I know," I replied.

She finally signed. The scratch of the pen on paper echoed through the silent living room. She set the pen down, and it was like she'd deflated. She was still standing tall, but half her energy seemed drained away.

"The house is yours. I just want the car," I said.

"Suit yourself," she replied, her voice a little hoarse.

I grabbed my suitcase and headed for the entryway.

"Are you sure you won't regret this?" she called out behind me.

I stopped, but didn't turn around.

I said, "Mandy, did you ever realize? Every time you looked at me, you were really seeing someone else. I don't even want to say his name for the rest of my life. Now, I'm letting you have that space back for him and letting you be yourself again."

I pulled the door open, and a blast of cold air rushed in.

"Owen!" Mandy called out.

She took a couple of steps after me, then stopped in the entryway. She gripped the doorframe, her knuckles turning white from the force.

It was the first time I'd ever seen that lost, helpless look on her face. She was like a child who'd wandered off and couldn't find her way back. Her long, wavy hair was a mess, half covering her face.

But I didn't stop. I just stepped into the elevator.

As the elevator doors closed, I saw her still standing in the doorway, unmoving, staring right at me. I knew she was hurting, and so was I. This pain wasn't about money or betrayal. It was the ache of being side by side, yet feeling as if the entire ocean lay between us.

The five-year tug-of-war between us ended in that moment, completely and irrevocably.

Three days after the divorce, it was a Saturday.

We were supposed to go to Bryan Rodgers's birthday party. Bryan was an old classmate of mine, and he was also Mandy's business partner. In our circle, people always called us the "perfect couple."