"Leo, I'm hungry…"

"I want your plum-glazed ribs."

Naomi's wheedling voice drifted from behind me, followed by the low, indulgent murmur of Leonard's reply.

My feet felt like they'd been filled with lead.

Eight years together—and I didn't know Leonard could cook until Naomi came back.

The day she returned to the country, Leonard brought her straight to our place.

I'd thoughtfully booked a restaurant ahead of time, but Naomi pouted, "I want to eat Leo's cooking"—and just like that, my reservation meant nothing. Leonard was already in the kitchen.

Eight dishes. Three hours.

The last one was the plum-glazed ribs.

"All those years abroad, your cooking is what I missed the most."

"Leo, you haven't forgotten your promise to me, have you?"

Leonard took off his apron and wiped his hands. "How could I forget the princess's wishes?"

"I've never cooked for anyone else. Ask Constance if you don't believe me. She didn't even know I could cook!"

They both laughed, and Leonard reached over to ruffle Naomi's hair.

At the table, I sat across from Naomi, wishing I could crawl into a hole and never come out.

They talked and laughed the whole evening. I couldn't have gotten a word in if I'd tried.

After my shower, the cloying sweetness of plum and braised pork hit me the moment I stepped out.

"Connie, come eat!"

Naomi was sitting next to Leonard, waving me over.

I glanced at their shoulders pressed together and managed a thin smile.

There was no place for me at that table.

"No, thanks."

"I'm not hungry."

I turned back toward the bedroom, only to find it filled with someone else's things.

"What is this?"

Leonard didn't even look up. "Oh, Naomi's place has a leak."

"She's staying here for a while."

"Once you've had your surgery and recovered, she'll move out."

The hand gripping my towel wouldn't stop shaking. When I spoke, the words came out cracked.

"Leonard, this is our shared condo."

Every word landed heavy and raw.

But Leonard didn't hear it.

He frowned at me, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. "We're not even married, are we?"

"So don't call it 'ours' like it means something."

"Constance, quit stirring up trouble over nothing."

Naomi didn't say a word, head down, eating quietly, but her shoulders were trembling with barely concealed laughter.

I said nothing. I gathered my things and moved to the guest room.

Just a few more days. I could endure a few more days.

My flight was the day after tomorrow. Once I was gone, let's see who Naomi could get to operate on her.

I'd barely sat down when my phone rang.

It was Aaron Whitney.

"My dear lady, please tell me you haven't forgotten your Monday flight."

His familiar, irreverent voice came through the speaker. I always told him I couldn't stand him, but right now that voice felt like a lifeline.

"I haven't."

"Aaron, what if my condition really is bad enough to need surgery?"

A pause on the other end. "Constance, don't be scared."

"I've looked at the scans you sent. It's not as frightening as you think. The equipment here is more advanced. You can get retested once you're here. What if it's a misdiagnosis?"

"And even if the diagnosis holds, there are many treatment options. Surgery isn't the only one."

For as long as I'd known him, Aaron had been the unreliable kid who never seemed to grow up.

But hearing that steady string of reassurances, it hit me that the boy in my memory had quietly grown up somewhere along the way.

His words eased something wound tight inside me.

Not long after I hung up, there was a knock at the door.

It was Naomi.

She was wearing my pajamas, eyes bright with open provocation.

"Connie, I'm wearing your pajamas. You don't mind, right?"

I glanced at her coldly. "It's fine. If it's gone, it's gone."

Naomi's red lips curved upward, and she walked in with a smile.

"Constance, do you know why Leonard stood you up at City Hall?"

Leonard and I had set a date six months ago. It fell three days after Naomi came back.

That day, he was late. By the time he showed up, everyone at City Hall had already left.

He caught my hands, already talking. "Cece, I swear it wasn't on purpose. Someone rear-ended me on the way over."

"My phone broke too..."

He fished the shattered phone out of his pocket, looking pitiful, proving it really had been an accident.

I believed him.

"That day was the anniversary of our first time. He took me back to where it happened."

"Want to know where?"

"His bedroom. I was eighteen..."

Naomi leaned in close. The red marks below the neckline of her pajamas were impossible to miss.

So this was what Leonard meant by *nothing going on with Naomi.*

No wonder he'd never brought up the marriage license again after she came back.

The only time he mentioned anything related was this premarital exam.

And the day he brought it up was our eighth anniversary.

"Constance, let's go do a premarital check-up."

"Naomi said she'd handle booking us in."

Our eighth anniversary, and that was what he wanted to talk about. A medical exam.

Leonard and I had the worst fight we'd ever had.

"Leonard, if you don't want to marry me, just say so."

"Stop dragging this out."

"You are not the only option I have!"

That wasn't anger talking.

In the six months since Naomi came back, Leonard had put her first in everything.

Dinners out, driving her to and from work. Every single time, she was the reason we fought.

But we'd never actually settle anything—just patch it over in some foggy, exhausted truce, and then it would be Naomi again, and we'd be right back where we started. Every fight, he'd dangle calling off the wedding just to twist the knife, and somewhere in all those loops I'd used up every last scrap of hope I had.

But people are like that. You don't turn back until you've hit the wall.

I couldn't bring myself to let go of eight years with Leonard.

So I agreed to the exam. And that exam was where they found the breast cancer.

"Constance, be honest—a woman with no breasts, what's even left that makes her a woman?"

Naomi's voice cut through my thoughts.

She was covering her mouth, laughing, her eyes bright with satisfaction.

"If I were you, I wouldn't even want to be alive... Leonard even said—"

My nails dug into my palms. "Get out!"

I didn't want to hear another word from her.

After I shoved her out and shut the door, I slid down against it until I hit the floor.

Something helpless and raw crept through my chest like vines, climbing my throat, tightening until I couldn't pull in air.

Eight years. Eight years I'd thrown away on nothing.

Maybe it was the grief. That night, a fever hit hard.

I held an ice pack against my forehead, shifted it to my neck, my arms—none of it made a difference.

I had no choice. I knocked on Leonard's door.

"I think I have a fever..."

Before I could finish, I collapsed into him.

Leonard fumbled for his phone—hands shaking, already dialing for an ambulance—but Naomi grabbed his arm.

"Don't!"

"She goes to the hospital, they'll hook her up to an IV. The second they pump medication into her, the surgery the day after tomorrow is finished!"

Leonard stood there, not moving. "Then what do I do? I can't just stand here and watch her burn up!"

Naomi took a deep breath. "Put her in the bathtub. A night of soaking and the fever will break."

I fought to stay conscious, my fingers twisting into his shirt.

"Leonard... take me... to the hospital..."

"Please… take me…"

"To the hospital…"

Naomi shook her head at him. "No."

Leonard glanced at Naomi, clenched his jaw, and said, "Fine. Go run the bath."

Whatever hope I'd still been holding onto died right there.

For the sake of Naomi's surgery, my life wasn't worth a second thought to Leonard.

By some mercy, the fever broke the next morning.

Leonard made congee for breakfast—brought it to me himself, looking almost guilty.

"Connie, I made this just for you."

"Naomi says keep it bland today. Surgery's tomorrow."

I looked at it, then dropped the bowl into the trash.

I didn't say a single word to Leonard for the rest of the day.

It wasn't until I got up in the middle of the night for water that his voice drifted through the crack in the bedroom door.

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

"Once she's done with the surgery, I'll bring up the breakup. Definitely."

"Isn't that the whole point right now? I'm just keeping her happy so you can get your surgery. All right? Come on, stop being mad…"

I wasn't surprised. Actually, something in my chest loosened.

I sat in the living room for the rest of the night.

When Leonard found me there at dawn, he took a startled step back.

"Why are you up so early?"

I stood. "Waiting for you two. Let's go to the hospital for the surgery."

"Didn't you say we'd get our marriage license once it's done?"

"Leonard, I've thought it through."

The surprise on his face gave way to relief he didn't even try to hide. Last night he'd been worried I'd make a scene at the hospital and wreck the whole procedure. Now everything was going exactly his way.

Leonard drove me and Naomi to the hospital.

Naomi went off to handle pre-op prep. Leonard stationed himself outside my room.

"I'm going to go change," I told him.

He didn't follow. Why would he? I was cooperating.

I walked with a nurse toward the changing room, and the moment the hallway was crowded enough, I turned and walked the other way.

I rode the elevator down with the crowd and walked out of the inpatient building.

"The airport, please."

The driver hit the gas, and the hospital shrank behind me.

Leonard sat in the room waiting. Minutes stretched. No one came back. Eventually the silence made him uneasy enough to get up and look.

"Where's Constance? She was just changing."

The nurse frowned. "She finished changing and left a while ago."

Cold sweat broke across his body. He searched the entire inpatient wing. I was nowhere.

Call after call after call. I rejected every one. Leonard lost it.

Then his phone rang.

He checked the screen and exhaled like a man pulled from water. "Connie, did you get lost?"

"Tell me where you are. I'll come get you—"

"I'm at the airport."

"Leonard, let's break up."

Airport announcements echoed through the line. The phone trembled in his hand, his knuckles turning white.