He froze.
"Ten years. You never once said it."
The car door shut. He was still standing at the curb, barefoot.
As the taxi pulled away, I glanced back.
He hadn't moved, his phone clenched in his hand.
The screen lit up.
I didn't look.
Three days later, I posted to my feed.
The photo was just one hand, with a diamond ring on the ring finger.
The caption: Done.
My phone buzzed thirteen times.
Amos's messages came one after another.
The last one read: "Whose ring is that?"
I didn't answer.
The call came in. I hung up.
It came again. I hung up again.
On the fifteenth one, I picked up.
"Whose ring is that?" His voice was hoarse.
"None of your business."
"You're lying. Where would you find someone? You were with me for ten years. Where would you even get someone?"
"There's a lot you don't know."
He drew a breath.
"Come back, let's talk. Forget the five hundred thousand, it's all yours. Whatever you want, I'll agree to it."
"Amos, do you remember my thirty-second birthday?"
He said nothing.
"I waited for you until eleven that night. You said you were working late. I lit a candle by myself, blew it out, and made a wish."
"What wish?"
"I wished that by this day next year, either you'd have married me, or I'd already be gone from your side."
The line went silent.
"It came true."
"You can't do this to me."
"I can."
His voice shook.
"Who is he? Do I know him?"
"Does it matter?"
"It matters. I want to know who it is."
"You wouldn't know him even if you met him. He doesn't work at your company. He won't post on social media to fool me, and he won't take my money to help some other woman."
A long silence.
"Her mother was never in the hospital."
I held the phone and didn't move.
"I asked around. Her mother's perfectly fine. She just wanted to borrow money from me to buy an apartment, with her boyfriend."
"Mm."
"You already knew?"
"I guessed."
"Then why aren't you cursing me out?"
"Would it do any good?"
His voice dropped lower and lower.
"I'm coming to find you right now."
"Don't bother."
"Why?"
"I'm not in that city anymore."
Something shattered on the other end of the line.
"Where did you go?"
"Somewhere you don't know."
"Come back—"
"No."
"We had ten years—"
"So what? Ten years and you never figured it out, but three days and suddenly you have?"
He didn't answer.
"Amos, it's not that you don't know how to be good to someone. You just didn't want to be good to me."
"It's not like that—"
"Then what is it like?"
He had no answer.
I hung up.
He called many more times after that. I didn't pick up a single one.
In the end he sent one message.
"I hope you'll be happy."
I didn't reply.
The diamond ring was a little tight on my finger. Wear it long enough and you get used to it.
After I put on the ring, Amos lost his mind.
First came a call at three in the morning.
"That post on your feed. Delete it."
I was in the middle of a face mask, pressing the corner of my mouth down.
"Why should I?"
"It's an eyesore."
"Then don't look."
He took a deep breath, like he was holding back his temper.
"What does he do? How old is he? How did you two meet?"
"We were set up on a date."
The other end went quiet for two seconds.
"Set up on a date? You went on a date three days after leaving me?"
“Mm.”
He let out a laugh. It was harder to hear than crying.
“So you had a backup all along, didn't you? Just waiting for me to slip up so you could walk out with a clear conscience?”
I peeled off my face mask.
“Amos, be reasonable.”
“I'm not being reasonable? You got involved with someone else, and you want me to be reasonable?”
His voice kept rising.
“What's his name? Where does he live? I'm going to find him.”
“What for?”
“I want to talk to him.”
“What do you have to say to him?”
“I want to see what he's got that made you put on his ring in three days.”
I hung up.
He called again. I blocked him.
Five minutes later, the landline in the living room rang.
My mom answered.
“It's for you. Some guy. Sounds like he's about to cry.”
I walked over and picked up the receiver.
“What do you want?”
“I want to see you.”
“I don't want to see you.”
“Just tell me one thing. Is it real? Is that ring real?”
“It's real.”
His breathing came heavy.
“Do you even know him? How long have you two known each other?”
“I've known him for ten years.”
The line went quiet.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“I've known him for ten years. Longer than you.”
His voice shook.
“You're lying to me.”
“I'm not. We met in college. He's liked me this whole time. I just never said yes.”
“Why now? Why are you saying yes now?”
“Because I finally figured it out. Some people are worth waiting for, and some people are just there to be missed.”
He was silent for ten-odd seconds.
“Amos, are you listening?”
“I'm here.”
He hung up.
I thought that was the end of it.
At seven that evening, the doorbell rang.
I opened the door, and Amos was standing there with a bunch of flowers in his hand, his eyes red.
He'd lost weight. Three days, and he'd shrunk a whole size. He hadn't shaved, his shirt was rumpled, and there was a grease stain near the collar.
“Are you out of your mind? How did you find this place?”
“Your mom told me. I begged her for half an hour.”
I stood in the doorway and didn't let him in.
“Go home.”
“I'm not going home.”
He took half a step forward. “Just hear me out. I know I was wrong. I shouldn't have gone to the movies with her, shouldn't have lent her the money, shouldn't have stayed at work and never come home. You were right about all of it. I just didn't appreciate you.”
“It's no use saying any of this now.”
“I know it's no use, but I have to say it.”
He drew a deep breath. “I love you.”
I froze for a second.
“What did you say?”
“I love you. I've never said that to anyone in my life. You're the first. Please. Don't marry someone else.”
His eyes went red, and the flowers trembled in his hand.
I looked at that face of his. A few seconds.
Then I laughed.
“Amos, you said it too late.”
Someone came up behind me, a hand settling on my waist.
Max Dickerson had appeared behind me at some point, in his loungewear, his hair still wet, like he'd just gotten out of the shower.
He glanced at Amos and spoke, not loudly.
“Who's this?”
Amos stared at the hand on my waist, frozen in place like he'd been nailed there.
The color drained from his face.
The flowers dropped to the floor.
Max looked down at the bouquet, then back at Amos, his tone flat.
“Oh. So you're the one.”
“The man who wasn't quite up to it……”
Max's hand was still resting on my waist.
Amos stared at that hand, his eyes rimmed red, his throat working once.
“Who the hell are you?”
Max didn't let go, and he didn't step back.
“Max Dickerson.”
“I asked who the hell you are.”
“I told you. Max Dickerson.”
Amos took a step forward. Max didn't move.
They stared at each other across the threshold, the air sinking heavy between them.
Amos turned to look at me.
“You're living with him?”
I said nothing.
“I'm talking to you. Are you living with him or not?”
Max shifted, putting himself between us.
“She's done with you. Clean.”
“I wasn't asking you!”
Amos shouted it at him, then locked his eyes on me again. “Answer me.”
I looked at him. Stubble, red-rimmed eyes, one shirt button done up wrong, the collar crooked.
Ten years, and I'd never seen him this wrecked.
“Go home, Amos.”
“I'm not going home.”
“Then standing here won't do anything.”
He pointed at Max. “What gives you the right?”
Max's brow flickered, but he didn't speak.
I looked at Amos. “Just go. Stop making a scene.”
“Making a scene?”
He laughed, and it was uglier than crying. “Ten years with you, and you call this a scene?”
He looked down at the flowers on the floor, bent, and picked them up. A few petals had broken off and lay scattered.
He held them out to me.
“Take them.”
I didn't.
His hand hung there in the air for a few seconds, then slowly came back down.
Max spoke. “She doesn't want them. Don't push her.”
Amos threw the flowers to the ground.
Petals scattered everywhere, and water splashed onto Max's slippers.
Max looked down at it. He didn't move away.
“Feels good now, doesn't it?” Amos asked him.
“No.”
“You won. You're pretty pleased with yourself, aren't you?”
Max looked at him. “There's nothing to be pleased about.”
“Cut the act.”
Max's voice stayed level. “You think I'm the one who edged you out? You did that to yourself.”
Amos's fists clenched.
I tugged Max's sleeve. “Don't. Leave it.”
Max stepped back and cleared the doorway.
Amos stood there, his chest heaving.
He looked at me, his eyes shot through with red.
“Just answer me one thing. You and him, is it real?”
“It's real.”
“Since when?”
“After we broke up.”
“You're lying.”
“I'm not.”
“Three days after we split and you're with him? Tell me you didn't already have someone lined up.”
Max spoke. “She never came to me. I'm the one who came to her.”
Amos stared at him.
“I bought the ring. I pursued her. She didn't come looking for me.”
Amos's chest heaved hard, his knuckles white.
I took a step forward. “Go home, Amos. Don't come back.”
“And if I don't?”
“Then you'll only humiliate yourself more.”
He stared at me, something turning over in his eyes.
I turned and walked back inside without looking back.
Max stood in the doorway and didn't close the door right away.
Amos's voice came from behind me, badly hoarse.
“If you ever treat her badly, I'll kill you.”
Max said nothing and shut the door.
In the moment it closed, I saw Amos still standing there, the crushed flowers clutched in his hand.
Max turned and glanced at me.
“Are you okay?”
I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.
“I'm okay.”
Outside, something slammed against the wall, then footsteps, growing fainter and fainter.
