When I got up from Ted Wiley's bed, he lazily handed me my underwear. "I'm changing the door code, so don't come by unless it's urgent."

I froze, blurting out, "Why?"

He grinned. "She said yes to being my girlfriend yesterday. I can't have her spotting you here—she'd flip. It took me forever to win her over."

I blinked awake, my body throbbing with exhaustion as every muscle protested. No matter how many times we'd been together like this, Ted Wiley's raw, unrelenting energy still left me reeling.

Rolling over, I saw he was already stirring. His chiseled muscles caught the morning light in a warm, honeyed glow, while his eyes remained half-lidded, lazy and distant.

"Up so early?" he asked, his voice carrying that gravelly morning husk.

A sharp twinge shot through my waist as I leaned down to slip on my stockings, only to discover yesterday's pair had been shredded beyond repair by his eager hands.

Ted flipped onto his side, dangling my bra from one finger with a wicked grin. "A grown woman like you still rocking plain white lace? Talk about outdated. Time to switch things up."

I snatched it from him. "Fine, I'll grab some new stuff. What kind do you..."

"No point," he interrupted. "I'm changing the code soon. Stay clear unless you need something."

I was stunned, especially since we had been entangled in this arrangement for a full year now.

At first, it was just sporadic calls every few days, but soon enough, except for his late-night shifts, I was practically living here.

I'd tidy up the place, prepare meals, and in the evenings when we finished early, we'd sink into the couch with movies and popcorn, our hands wandering long before the plot reached its climax.

We moved like a real couple, easy and intimate.

I'd grown so accustomed to it that I'd even let myself fantasize he felt the same—that we could build something lasting, perhaps even a happy little family.

But now, here he was, cutting me loose.

"Is your family coming by?" I stammered. "Or is work piling up? I could..."

He propped himself up, his smirk deepening. "Nah. She finally agreed to be my girlfriend."

It took a moment for me to realize who "she" was—the fresh-faced college graduate he'd been pursuing, according to the rumors.

Over the years, women had paraded through his life like fleeting summer flings, none lasting more than three months. I'd dismissed this as just another whim, nothing worth worrying about.

My mouth went dry. "You're serious about her?"

"Dead serious," he chuckled. "She is not like the others. You wouldn't get it. She is pure and innocent. I can't risk her finding out about us; it'd crush her. I chased her hard."

Sunbeams sliced through the gaps in the curtains, harsh and dizzying.

"Oh... Okay," I murmured after a beat, forcing myself to sound calm. "I'll pack up and head out today."

"No rush," he replied casually, tugging on a pair of gray sweatpants. "You gave up your old place, right? Hang around here a couple of days until you find something new."

I squeezed my eyes shut, a bitter sting exploding inside me and leaving me off-balance. "Thanks, but no. I'm out now."

I didn't even know why I was in such a hurry.

He was right. I had nowhere else to go, but staying felt impossible, as if he'd stripped me bare and left me exposed under the harsh light, with shame threatening to swallow me whole.

My belongings here were sparse. Most of what I'd bought was for him: pots and pans for cooking his dinners, fresh sheets for the bed, and quirky pillows and knick-knacks scattered around the place.

His apartment was designed in a stark minimalist style, and he'd once complained half-jokingly that I'd turned it into a cozy mess since I'd started staying over.

Yet my true personal items fit easily into a single suitcase.

As I reached the door, he called out to me. Bare-chested and leaning casually against the frame, he flicked a lighter to his cigarette.

"Nora, you're not getting any younger," he said through a puff of smoke, his lips twisting into a half-grin. "Find a good guy and settle down. We'll stay friends, yeah?"

I caught his meaning and nodded. "Yeah."

...

Eldonfield's winters were damp and insidious—not bone-chilling, but the kind of cold that seeped straight into one's core.

Flurries danced down, tiny wet specks kissing my nose. Glancing up, I saw the once-clear sky had turned moody, with fine snow whirling on the breeze.

Eldonfield hadn't seen a proper snowfall in years; ever since I'd followed Ted here, the winters had felt stripped of their former magic.

Memories pulled me back to my northern coastal hometown, where sea gales transformed moisture into thick, fluffy blankets overnight.

By dawn, the snow would bury everything knee-deep in pristine white—a bold, exhilarating sweep, unlike this city's clingy drizzle that tugged relentlessly at the heartstrings.

I dumped my bag and sank onto a bus stop bench, dialing home. My mom picked up quickly, her tone buzzing with cautious hope. "Nora?"

The cold air nipped at my nose as I rubbed it, soothing the burn. "Mom, I'm craving your apple pie."

Alice Pledge perked up immediately. "I'll whip one up! Let me check flights. Holidays are coming, and tickets might be tough..."

"No need," I cut in. "I'm heading home for Christmas this year."

A pause followed, then pure delight. "For real?"

"Yep." I tipped my head back, a flake stinging my eye as I blinked back tears, my voice growing thick. "Actually, I'm thinking of moving back for good."

...

That afternoon, I submitted my resignation.

My boss tried hard to keep me. "Is it the salary? Let's talk about bumps. The manager is leaving next year, and you're next in line. Walking away now would be a huge mistake."

I smiled softly and shook my head. "I appreciate it, Gloria, but I need to spend time with my folks back home."

Ambition had never been my driving force. I had no dreams of climbing ladders or becoming someone important—just a desire for a quiet, content life.

I'd followed Ted to Eldonfield because he was building his career here.

I had been convinced that if I stayed by his side long enough, he'd eventually see me. But love, it turned out, couldn't be forced through sheer persistence.

On my way to the hotel, a curbside bookstore was blasting lyrics that struck a chord.

"I don't care what they say, I'm in love with you. They try to pull me away, but they don't know the truth. My heart's crippled by the vein, and I can't stop crying..."

I lingered there, the words echoing my own story. I first met Ted at 17 and had bent myself for him ever since.

Now I was hitting 30, and this madness had to end.

That night, dreams transported me back to the teenage Ted—the boy who had transferred to our small-town high school in his sophomore year.

While the other boys were still scruffy and unpolished, he arrived in a black down jacket, with curls framing his forehead and a tall, lean frame that made him stand out.

Ted was stunning, as if he'd stepped from another world. By that afternoon, girls from every grade had crammed against the windows, gawking at him.

A few days later, even the prom queen slipped him notes, but he brushed them all off, preferring to doze in the back row as if nothing mattered.

He ignored books and lectures alike, and the teachers turned a blind eye. Only during tests would he nudge my back and say, "Hey, let me copy your answers."

He seemed to assume I'd comply, and I did. That irritated the other guys, who branded him a show-off and started picking fights with him every few days in the alley behind the school.

I'd catch glimpses of those brawls almost daily.

One evening, as I biked past, I spotted him slumped against the wall, smoking through a battered face. I hesitated, then braked and fished a Band-Aid from my pocket.

"You're bleeding," I said, offering it to him.

He glanced up with an icy stare. "Scram."

What a jerk! I wasn't crushing on him; it was just basic decency.

After that, I ignored his nudges for answers. A month later, his admirers dwindled, but the rumors only grew.

Some said that his jacket was from some obscure luxury brand, costing 30 grand. Others whispered he was the son of a mistress, abandoned when the wife discovered the affair. His mom couldn't handle life in Eldonfield anymore, so they'd returned to their roots.

The stares shifted, blending envy with scorn and a twisted curiosity.

One dusk, as I biked through the alley on my way home, I found him sprawled on the ground in the aftermath of a brutal fight.

His knuckles were bloody, his face marred with cuts. Blood trickled from his forehead.

I nearly kept pedaling, but the falling snow had half-buried him, and his pallor was ghostly. Worried, I approached and nudged him gently. "Are you okay?"

Getting no response, I panicked and pulled out my phone. "I'm calling 911."

Only then did he crack an eye open, frowning. "It's you again."

I was annoyed, but urgency took precedence. "You're really messed up. Let's get you to the hospital."

"Mind your own business," he spat, his lids dropping again.

I dialed anyway. He was shivering in just a black hoodie, so after a moment's hesitation, I shrugged off my red down jacket and draped it over him.

He tensed and called out as I turned away. My faded, frumpy coat looked almost comical on him. "You know my mom is a mistress, right?"

I mounted my bike. "I've heard the rumors. And?"

"Then why help me?"

"You're not her. Being the other woman sucks, but it's not a death sentence."

Silence fell as snow dusted his lashes, and he stared at me. The sirens began wailing in the distance, and I waved. "Don't forget to return the jacket."

He was absent for a week after that, and his opponents fared no better.

His mother, Mamie Hubbard, stormed into the school, resulting in their expulsion all around.