Chapter 3

The morning after Marcus's wedding, I dragged myself to work with puffy eyes and a hollow feeling in my chest. The office was quiet, most of my colleagues taking advantage of the Monday after a company event to come in late. But Scott was already there, his office door open, the soft glow of his computer screen illuminating his focused expression.

"Morning, Hadley," he said, looking up as I passed his door. "Coffee?"

I hesitated. "I was just about to make some."

"I've already brewed a fresh pot." He gestured to the small coffee station in the corner of his office. "And I added an extra shot of vanilla—I noticed you always ask for it when you get your morning coffee downstairs."

I blinked in surprise. Danny had never noticed my preference for vanilla in my coffee, despite five years together.

"Thank you," I said, accepting the steaming mug he handed me.

Scott smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. "I've assigned you to lead the quarterly review for the Paris initiative. The team there has been impressed with your previous work, and I think you'll enjoy working directly with Elena Dubois—she's their marketing director."

"Paris?" I echoed, taking a sip of the perfectly prepared coffee.

"Just video conferences for now," he clarified. "But there might be opportunities for in-person meetings down the line."

Over the next few weeks, Scott continued to assign me to projects that challenged me, that made me feel valued for my skills rather than taken for granted. Each morning, a coffee with vanilla waited on my desk. Each week, new opportunities to showcase my talents appeared in my inbox.

One evening, when most of the office had gone home, I stayed late finalizing a presentation for the Paris team. The building was eerily quiet, just the soft hum of computers and the occasional ping of the elevator in the distance.

"You're still here," Scott said, appearing in my doorway with two cups of coffee.

"I wanted to finish this before tomorrow's call," I replied, gesturing to my screen.

He nodded, setting one of the cups beside me. "Mind if I join you for a bit? I could use a break from quarterly reports."

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment before he spoke again.

"Paris is beautiful this time of year," he said, his voice soft with memory. "The city has a way of changing people."

"How so?" I asked, intrigued by the faraway look in his eyes.

"It strips away the expectations others place on you," he explained. "When you're in a new place, surrounded by new people who don't know your history or your relationships, you get to discover who you really are—who you want to be."

I felt something shift inside me at his words. Who would I be if I weren't defined by my relationship with Danny? If I weren't constantly trying to be the grateful girlfriend who owed her boyfriend everything?

---

The idea came to me during another sleepless night. I wanted to create a scrapbook of meaningful moments from my life—a personal history project to help me reconnect with myself. And what more meaningful moment was there than the day I nearly died?

The next Saturday, I found myself at the downtown library, requesting access to newspaper archives from five years ago.

"Looking for anything specific?" the librarian asked as she led me to a computer terminal.

"The drowning incident at Lake Mitchell," I replied. "It was in the summer."

She nodded, helping me navigate to the digital archives. "There should be coverage in the local papers."

I scrolled through articles until I found it: "LOCAL WOMAN RESCUED FROM DROWNING." The headline was smaller than I expected, the article brief.

"A 27-year-old woman was rescued from Lake Mitchell yesterday afternoon after witnesses reported seeing her struggling in the water. The victim, Hadley Morgan, was pulled to safety by an unidentified man who diving into the water without hesitation. Emergency responders arrived shortly after to provide medical attention."

I frowned, reading the description of the rescuer: "The unidentified man had dark hair and was wearing a blue company polo shirt with the logo of Riverside Industries."

Dark hair. Danny had always had light brown hair.

And Riverside Industries—Danny hadn't worked there five years ago. He'd been at his current company for seven years now.

My hands trembled slightly as I printed the article. Something wasn't adding up.

I needed to know more about that day. About who really saved me.

And why Danny had let me believe it was him all these years.