"Why would Claire mind?" Finley said. "She knows exactly what kind of relationship we have."

He stood and grabbed a napkin, gently wiping the corner of Renee's lips. "You little glutton, how do you still eat like a messy kid?"

A wave of nausea hit Claire so hard, she had to look away. "I'm not feeling well," she muttered. "I'm heading home."

Finley glanced at her, a flicker of concern crossing his face. "Is it the baby again? This little one really doesn't behave, huh?"

For a split second, Claire thought he might walk her out. Instead, he said, "If you're not feeling well, go ahead. I'll come back after Renee finishes eating."

She stared at him, biting back the bitter laugh bubbling in her throat. Even pregnant, she came second to Renee.

Suddenly, the fire alarm blared. People started shouting, "Fire! Run!"

Before Claire could react, the crowd surged toward the exits, the restaurant erupting into chaos. Her mind blanked for a moment. Instinctively, her eyes searched for Finley.

But she saw was him scooping Renee into his arms, rushing toward the exit without so much as a glance back.

It turned out to be a false alarm—just someone smoking in the bathroom. People trickled back to their tables, shaking off the scare like it was nothing.

Including Finley and Renee.

Renee leaned into him dramatically, her arms wrapped around his. "Finley, that was terrifying! Thank goodness you were there!"

Finley smiled softly, running his fingers through her hair. "I told you—I'll always protect you."

Claire stared at Finley, disappointment hitting her like ice water, sharp and numbing. It twisted her stomach as the memories flooded back—three years ago, that stupid hike.

Renee was about to leave for some trip abroad, and Finley insisted they all go together. Halfway up the trail, Renee pulled Claire aside, pretending to have something urgent to say. Instead, she picked a fight. Then, like it was scripted, she threw herself down the path in a dramatic tumble.

When Finley showed up, he didn't ask a single question. He just started yelling, accusing her of pushing Renee.

Later, on the way down, a monkey jumped out. Claire froze, cornered and too stunned to move. Finley didn't notice—he was too busy shielding Renee, holding her like she was made of glass.

That was when Claire got it. She wasn't his priority. She never had been.

Back at the table, Renee strutted over, her hand flying to her mouth in fake shock. "Oh no, Claire! We completely forgot about you. Are you okay? Why didn't you run?"

Only then did Finley glance her way. Guilt flickered across his face as he walked over, taking her hand. "Claire, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. It's just... Renee's a celebrity. She can't afford to get hurt—"

"I get it," Claire cut him off, her voice calm. Too calm. She'd heard this excuse one too many times.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" Finley asked.

Claire slipped her hand from his and forced a faint smile. "No."

"Claire, you're amazing." He seemed almost impressed—like he expected her to fight back or make a scene. Instead, she didn't even flinch.

"Don't worry," he promised. "I swear I'll never ignore you again."

She dropped her gaze. Promises, she realized, were just another kind of lie.

Then Renee started coughing.

"Renee, what's wrong?" Finley rushed to her side. "Are you okay?"

"My throat... That lamb—it's making me feel... ugh, so scratchy."

Finley turned back to Claire, his concern for Renee all over his face. "She's not feeling well. I'll take her home first."

Claire nodded. "Go ahead."

"Good girl." He kissed her forehead like she was a kid before rushing off to support Renee as they left together.

After a few steps, Finley glanced back. Claire was still standing where he'd left her, her small frame almost swallowed by the space around her. She looked so fragile, so alone.

It hit him then—he'd promised her he wouldn't put Renee first anymore, but he'd failed. Every single time. Determined, he swore to himself he'd make it up to Claire.

Once Finley and Renee were gone, Claire returned to her seat. A waiter appeared, carrying a two-tiered cake.

"Miss, happy birthday. This cake was prepared by Mr. Lloyd," the waiter said, glancing around awkwardly when he noticed Finley wasn't there. Claire sat alone.

"Just leave it, thanks."

The waiter lit the candles and handed her a small doll as a gift. Claire closed her eyes, made a wish, and blew out the candles.

She didn't wish for herself. She wished for her baby—to be reborn into a family filled with love, where happiness wasn't something fragile and fleeting.

She took a bite of the cake. It was sweet, but all she could taste was bitterness.

Not long after, her phone buzzed. Raoul.

"The divorce papers are ready," he told her. "You can sign whenever you're ready."

Claire didn't hesitate. She went to his office, reviewed the documents, and signed with a steady hand.

Raoul watched her, his curiosity finally breaking through. "Mrs. Lloyd, you and Mr. Lloyd have a child. Everyone knows how much you love him. Why divorce now?"

Claire's smile was faint. "It's Ms. Carlson now. Finley and I have no connection anymore," she said, sidestepping the question. "Oh, and Raoul, make sure you personally deliver these to him tomorrow. Once he's signed, let me know so I can give you an address to mail the finalized papers."

"Does Mr. Lloyd even know about this? What if he doesn't agree?"

Claire chuckled softly. "He'll agree. Trust me, he's probably been waiting for this. But if not? I'll sign another set. He'll get the hint eventually."

"Understood. I'll take care of it."

"Thanks."

With that, Claire went home.

The house was empty. No surprise—Finley hadn't come back.

She grabbed a suitcase and started packing.

Emma noticed Claire packing, curiosity written all over her face. "Mrs. Lloyd, why are you packing? Are you going somewhere?"

"Just leaving for a few days," she said, keeping it vague.

In reality, her ticket to the Maldives was already booked. The ocean was calling her—the one promise Finley never kept, she'd keep for herself.

"Does Mr. Lloyd know?"

"He doesn't need to."

After finishing, Claire carefully placed her prenatal records, ultrasound images, and the hospital report from her miscarriage into a small box. It would be her last "gift" to Finley.

Part of her wondered what he'd feel when he opened it. Regret? Guilt? Sadness? But none of it mattered. The baby was gone, and no reaction from him could change that.

She handed the box to Emma. "Give this to Finley tomorrow morning."

Emma frowned, confused. "Why not wait and give it to him yourself?"

"I won't be here," Claire said simply, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Why wasn't she staying? Because she couldn't stand to see him again—not now, not ever.

As the plane to the Maldives soared into the sky, a wave of relief and joy washed over her.

So this was what it felt like to let go of someone who didn't love you. It felt amazing.