Chapter 2 · Tomorrow, I Choose Me

Rain pounded against the floor-to-ceiling windows of our apartment.

It was 1:00 AM. I sat at the kitchen island, holding my wiped phone.

Conrad thought he had erased my life. I bypassed the wiped main drive and pulled up a single cached fragment from six months ago.

Video 180.

I tapped play. My own face appeared on the blurry screen -- halfway through our year together.

"Conrad forgot our anniversary tonight,"past-Maeve said softly on the recording, her eyes dull and tired. "He came home late smelling like perfume. But don't bring it up tomorrow, Maeve. He was tired. Forgive him."

I stared at my past self on the screen. A suffocating chill filled my chest.

I didn't just love him for 365 days. Every morning, because of my condition, I had to teach myself not to believe what I felt. I was fighting my own instincts just to stay by his side.

I dragged the fragment into the shredder and deleted it forever. No more excuses.

My phone buzzed on the marble counter with an Instagram notification from his close friend, Marcus.

The photo showed Conrad at an exclusive club downtown, leaning back on a plush couch with his arm casually draped over Clara's shoulders. Clara was giggling, holding a glass of champagne.

The caption read: The king is finally free.

Conrad had liked the post himself. He thought I was sitting at home in the dark, weeping over lost memories. He thought he held all the power in our relationship.

I didn't call him. I didn't text him.

Instead, I opened my personal medical registry app. As a brain trauma patient, I had legally listed Conrad as my primary emergency representative and medical decision-maker.

With two taps, I revoked his representative status and removed his name from my files completely.

Then, I accessed my phone's offline vault -- a password-protected folder he didn't know existed.

Deep inside sat one single video file.

The title read: Watch this ONLY if he does it again.

Chapter 2

Rain pounded against the floor-to-ceiling windows of our apartment.

It was 1:00 AM. I sat at the kitchen island, holding my wiped phone.

Conrad thought he had erased my life. I bypassed the wiped main drive and pulled up a single cached fragment from six months ago.

Video 180.

I tapped play. My own face appeared on the blurry screen -- halfway through our year together.

I stared at my past self on the screen. A suffocating chill filled my chest.

I didn't just love him for 365 days. Every morning, because of my condition, I had to teach myself not to believe what I felt. I was fighting my own instincts just to stay by his side.

I dragged the fragment into the shredder and deleted it forever. No more excuses.

My phone buzzed on the marble counter with an Instagram notification from his close friend, Marcus.

The photo showed Conrad at an exclusive club downtown, leaning back on a plush couch with his arm casually draped over Clara's shoulders. Clara was giggling, holding a glass of champagne.

The caption read: The king is finally free.

Conrad had liked the post himself. He thought I was sitting at home in the dark, weeping over lost memories. He thought he held all the power in our relationship.

I didn't call him. I didn't text him.

Instead, I opened my personal medical registry app. As a brain trauma patient, I had legally listed Conrad as my primary emergency representative and medical decision-maker.

With two taps, I revoked his representative status and removed his name from my files completely.

Then, I accessed my phone's offline vault -- a password-protected folder he didn't know existed.

Deep inside sat one single video file.

The title read: Watch this ONLY if he does it again.