For seven years, every Thanksgiving, Griffin Williams came home with me to visit my parents like clockwork.

That morning, Griffin casually slipped into one of his perfectly tailored suits, carefully adjusting his collar in the mirror. As I folded my clothes, I teased him, "You don't have to get so dressed up. My parents already have it in their heads that you're their future son-in-law."

Griffin paused mid-roll of his sleeves and said in that calm, collected way of his, "I forgot to mention—there's a problem with the project design plans. I won't be joining you this year."

"You should go ahead and book your flight."

Stunned, the clothes slipped from my hands to the floor.

"Wow, that's... unexpected."

Knowing how committed he was to that project, I nodded in understanding and let it go.

Before heading out, I noticed he'd left the design plans at home. Since I knew his schedule was packed, I grabbed the plans and rushed over to his office. But instead of finding him at work, I found Griffin at a café. He was cradling a little boy and smiling tenderly at the woman sitting across from him—Claire Rodriguez, his first love.

As I moved closer, I caught Griffin's cool, familiar voice: "I'll take care of you and the kid from now on."

The woman threw her arms around him. "Griffin, I knew you wouldn't leave us..."

I didn't stick around to hear more. From now on, Griffin, I don't need you by my side.

Back home, I sat on the couch, staring at the design plans in my hands for a long time. Then I snapped a photo and texted it to Griffin. Without another word, I went back to packing the clothes scattered around the bedroom into my suitcase.

As I moved, a sharp pain shot through my heel. I sat down and pulled off my shoe. My heel was rubbed raw, the skin peeling back and blood seeping through. I glanced at the bloodstained shoes. They were two sizes too small—meant to be returned. In my rush to get Griffin's plans to him, I hadn't noticed and had ended up wearing them.

I stared at the size 5 on the shoe, amazed I'd managed to squeeze into them at all. I switched into my slippers. Just then, my mom called. Her voice blended with the sizzle of frying food and the low hum of the range hood. She called out, bright with excitement:

"Sweetheart, I've made all your favorites and Griffin's. Where are you two?"

I looked at the open design plans on the table, unable to bring myself to say anything. My dad's voice came through the line:

"Look how excited your mom is. Oh, hey!" He suddenly remembered something. "Griffin doesn't like the strong stuff—I should run out and grab that beer he likes."

My mom laughed and shooed him off. She pulled the phone closer.

"Sweetie, tell Griffin to drive safe. We'll be waiting for you."

Just then, Griffin's message popped up:

[Are you on your way?]

[Your dad keeps calling me, asking what I want to drink. I'm swamped right now. Please tell Harold I won't be able to make it.]

Clutching the phone tightly, I drew in a breath and forced my voice to stay light.

"Mom, Griffin isn't coming this year. He won't be coming anymore."

"Tell Dad to skip the beer."

Silence stretched on the other end, and the range hood went quiet.

Finally, my mom's voice came through, a little hoarse. She didn't ask any questions, just said, "It's alright, sweetie. I'll be here waiting for you. We can go see Grandma for Thanksgiving."

"She's made your favorite pie and can't wait to see you."

I laughed softly and promised. After hanging up, the room was silent. I absently toyed with the plain ring on my finger, staring at my pale, hollow reflection in the mirror.

Without thinking, I opened WhatsApp and saw Claire's status update—we'd had each other added since high school. Right beneath hers was Griffin's, posted half an hour earlier with the same photo collage. They'd forgotten to block me.

I tapped the photo: three hands clasped together. Zooming in, I spotted a Ferris wheel in the background. They were at an amusement park. So this was what Griffin was so busy with—spending time with someone else.

Griffin had always been reserved, his life as routine and predictable as a retiree's. In all our years together, he'd never once posted a picture of me. Once, frustrated, I pointed out that other guys had photos of their girlfriends on their profiles, but not him. I nagged him to post one.

He was busy with work and nodded absentmindedly, but he never did. Looking back now, I wonder if he simply forgot—or if he was worried about someone seeing it.

Under Claire's post, Griffin's friends left congratulatory comments:

[Wow, seriously? The photos match—are you two back together?]

[Old flame rekindled, huh? Spill the tea, I'm here for it!]

[Is she gonna be our sister-in-law again? I love that!]

[…]

I read every single one. Then I liked every last comment.

A few minutes later, all those comments were gone.

Back on my chat screen, I found a 60-second voice message from Dad.

"Avery, your mom and I found a job for you in New York. You should come back for Thanksgiving. We'll be here, and it'll be easier to take care of you."

Last year, they'd tried to talk me into moving back to New York for work too. It was the dream job I'd always wanted, but Griffin was in San Francisco, and I chose to stay with him, so I turned it down.

Opening the sparse chat history with Griffin, I smirked at my own foolishness and typed my reply to Dad:

[Got it, Dad.]

It was past nine in the evening when the fingerprint lock clicked open and the security system let out its cold, mechanical chime. Griffin Williams stepped inside, swapping his shoes for house slippers and tugging wearily at his tie. He paused when he saw me sitting motionless on the sofa, his brow creasing slightly.

"Why haven't you left yet?" he asked, casually picking up the coffee mug from the coffee table and taking a sip.

I didn't answer. Instead, I kept my gaze locked on his face and asked, trying to sound casual, "Why are you back so late? Were you working overtime today?"

Griffin's Adam's apple bobbed as he set the cup down. A faint smile played at the corner of his lips, and he tousled my hair. "Yeah, it was a hectic day," he said, his voice completely untroubled. He wrapped an arm around my waist and brushed his cheek against mine.

"It's getting late. Shouldn't you be in bed already?"

I avoided his gaze and pushed the design plans toward him. "How did you manage to get any work done without the design plans?"

He hesitated, saying nothing. He was still wearing the same clothes he'd left in that morning, now slightly wrinkled from the long day. On his right wrist, a kid's bracelet stood out, jarringly out of place against his usual polished, put-together look.

Catching my stare, Griffin glanced down at his wrist and slid the bracelet under his sleeve, looking almost sheepish. "This is—"

"I already saw it," I cut in, meeting his eyes dead-on. "You didn't go to work. You spent the whole day with Claire Rodriguez, didn't you?"

I let out a short, dry laugh. "Your WhatsApp—you forgot to block me."

Griffin blinked, then grinned and gave my cheek a casual pinch. "What are you talking about? Claire and I have nothing going on. Why would I block you?"

"Her husband died unexpectedly at work. Given our past connection, it's only natural I helped her out," he explained. "I just didn't want you to read too much into it."

Past connection?

Here he was, discussing his history with an ex right in front of me. I lowered my head, clenching my fists, but said nothing. Griffin watched me for a moment before his patience ran out. He pressed a dismissive kiss to my forehead and turned toward the bedroom.

"Don't overthink it. I'm really tired today. You should get some sleep too."

The bedroom door closed with a decisive click, sharp enough to cut through my thoughts. I let out a bitter laugh. Griffin, who had always been impatient and never liked kids, once told me he wanted a child-free life. Yet now, he'd spent an entire day at the amusement park with Claire and her kid.

When we first met, Griffin had just broken up with Claire, and he'd been a shadow of his old self. We were both twenty-three, introduced by our families as potential matches—a casual romance that could lead to marriage if things worked out. Everyone assumed Griffin and I were strangers, but I'd noticed him back in high school. Back then, Claire was his girlfriend.

I'd believed time could change everything. But looking back now, our seven years together never measured up to his three years with Claire. In his heart, there would always be a place for her. My confidence seems laughable in hindsight.

I stared at that firmly shut bedroom door, my head buried in my knees as silent tears began to fall. Griffin, even at the end, you couldn't be bothered to say more than a few words to me about leaving.

That night, I didn't go back to the bedroom. Instead, I curled up on the sofa, lost in thoughts of a future that was now undeniably different.

I didn't get a wink of sleep last night. The cramping in my stomach was so bad I lost count of how many times I dragged myself to the bathroom, and every trip left me looking more washed out and shaky. The last time I went, I noticed blood on the toilet paper. Exhaustion hit me all at once, and I ended up collapsing on the couch.

In the morning, Griffin made breakfast. I sat at the kitchen table with my fork in hand, my stomach still twisting into knots. I bit my lip and forced myself to eat. Griffin glanced up from his phone and noticed I'd barely touched my food.

"Avery, what's up? You're not eating?" he asked.

I shook my head, wincing from the pain. It felt like he was asking out of habit more than out of actual concern. He went right back to his phone, texting with this little amused smile on his face.

Then a voice message accidentally played out loud from his phone. "Griff, Claire's waiting for you. Don't keep her too long!"

The room went dead silent. Griffin looked over at me, rubbing his nose awkwardly, then said, a little too casually, "It's a friend's birthday today. Don't wait up for me tonight."

Expressionless, I pushed the overcooked eggs around my plate. Seven years together, and he still didn't know I couldn't stand eggs. But every time, I choked them down just to keep the peace. The bitter taste of burnt food filled my mouth, and the ache in my abdomen sharpened, like it was trying to stab straight through my heart.

Griffin scarfed down the rest of his breakfast, wiped his mouth, and cleaned up in a rush. That voice message kept replaying in my head. I thought about how he'd barely ever introduced me to his friends. I tilted my head back, fighting back tears. The pain in my abdomen was making it hard to breathe.

When I glanced down, I saw blood pooling on the floor. Instinctively, I called out to Griffin as he was about to walk out.

"Griffin..."

He was standing in the entryway, changing his shoes and chuckling at something on his phone. When he heard me, he didn't even look up. "Avery, just relax here. Let me know if you need anything, and I'll grab it for you."

"Tomorrow's Thanksgiving. If you head home, tell your folks I said hi," he added, right before the door slammed shut behind him.

Gritting my teeth, I hauled myself to my feet, using the table for support, and called my friend Melody.

"Melody... I'm really not feeling well. Can you take me to the hospital?"

At the hospital, the cold machines hummed around me. A tiny, unformed mass was taken away. After the procedure, when I stood up, blood rushed out of me, leaving me pale and lightheaded. Melody carefully held me up as we went to find the doctor.

Dr. Jones looked over my chart, her face serious.

"Miss Powell, are you unmarried?"

She shook her head, clearly disapproving. "Young people these days... so reckless."

Then she looked at me with pity. "Your boyfriend didn't even come with you?"

"That's not much of a partner."

Miscarriage?

The word echoed in my ears, drowning out everything else. The doctor went on, "If you had come in a little sooner, we might have been able to save the pregnancy... In the future, conceiving may be difficult."

Numb, I let Melody guide me out of the hospital, the doctor's words still ringing in my ears. Melody knew about Griffin and Claire. As she helped me walk, she went off about him.

"Griffin is such a jerk, leaving you for that woman. Doesn't he get it? If you'd waited any longer, it wouldn't have just been a miscarriage..."

Her words died off as she looked at me. My face was ghostly pale, cold sweat beading on my forehead from the pain. She gently wiped my brow, her face etched with worry.

"Stay with me tonight."

I forced a small smile and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "No need. I've already arranged for my parents to pick me up. I'm heading back to Boston."

My dad had offered to come get me after our last call. As we were talking, Griffin called. I ignored it the first time, but he kept calling. Just as I was about to turn my phone off, Melody snatched it out of my hand.

"I'm going to give him a piece of my mind," she said, her voice full of determination.

The call connected, but before Melody could get a word in, there was chaotic singing in the background and a woman's cries of pain, followed by Griffin's frantic voice.

"Avery, are you home? Claire hurt her hand, and there's no pharmacy nearby. Can you grab some antiseptic for us?"

In that moment, whatever tiny hope I had left in my heart shattered completely.