I reached the mediation room and looked in through the glass.

Gina sat there, legs crossed, hair messy, a bruise on her lip.

Peter stood next to her, holding an ice pack to her cheek like it mattered.

His eyes were full of concern. "You're too reckless. Why would you even get into a fight with those guys?"

Gina shrugged. "They wouldn't shut up. Kept harassing me. You're a real one, though, staying this late."

Peter smiled, kinda helpless, and ruffled her short hair. "If I don't stay with you, who will? I already worked it out with them. We'll pay $200,000 and settle it off the record."

The second he said money, I pushed the door open.

They both looked over.

Peter's face dropped. "Joey? You following me?"

I walked straight up to him, eyes locked on the bank card in his hand. "You just said $200,000. You paying it with that?"

He frowned like it was obvious. "So what if I am? Gina acted in self-defense. If she gets a record, how's she supposed to get a job? I'm lending it to her. Once we're married, I'll earn it back. What's the problem?"

My whole body shook. My nails dug into my palms. "That's our savings. More than half is my grandma's pension. I told you on the phone—she's in the ER. She needs that money to live."

Gina rolled her eyes. "You're still putting on a show? You followed us here just to stop Peter? It's just money. I'll pay you back after my bonus next month. You really gonna be this cheap?"

I ignored her, eyes on Peter. "Transfer the rest. Now."

He stood and shoved the card back into his wallet. "Joey Jensen, this is unbelievable. You that jealous you can't show basic decency? Gina's shaken up. Instead of caring, you're making a scene. Where's the grace of someone about to be my wife?"

I stared at him.

Familiar—and a total stranger.

His girl bro hurt someone, and he drained our savings without blinking. My grandma was in the ER, waiting on that money to live—and he called me jealous.

I sucked in a shaky breath and dropped to my knees.

"Peter, I'm begging you. I won't ask for anything back. Just transfer the rest. That's her life."

He flinched, then his face twisted with disgust.

He yanked me up. "Are you done? You really going this far just to drag me back? Let me be clear—even if you dropped right here, I still wouldn't give you a cent for that made-up story."

He shoved my hand away. I lost my balance and hit the floor.

His arm slid around Gina. They walked out.

At the door, he paused, voice cold. "Stay here. Think about what you did. Call me when you learn how to act."

I watched them disappear into the night.

My phone started ringing in my pocket.

My hands shook as I answered.

"Ms. Jensen, the patient didn't make it. Please come say your goodbyes."

***

I don't know how I made it out of the police station.

Dawn was breaking. The wind cut across my face like a blade—but it didn't touch the pain in my chest.

By the time I got back to the hospital, they'd already moved Grandma to the morgue.

A white sheet covered her small, fragile body—cutting off the last warmth I had.

I didn't cry.

I'd run out of tears sometime during that endless night.

Numb, I handled the death certificate, called the funeral home, and watched them slide her into cold storage.

Three years ago, Grandma held Peter's hand and placed mine in his. "Peter, Joey's had it rough. From now on, you're her support."

Back then, he cried harder than I did and swore he'd take care of me for life.

I thought I'd found shelter.

Turns out, he was the storm.

I pulled out the wooden hair clip he'd carved for me.

The edges were worn smooth from years of holding it. It used to mean everything.

I gripped it with both hands—and snapped it in half.

Five years of loving him snapped with it.

By the time I finished arranging Grandma's funeral, it was already noon.

The exact time we were supposed to be saying our vows.

I took a cab back to our apartment.

The second I opened the door, wedding decorations hit me—pastel balloons floating overhead, like a joke.

I went to the bedroom, pulled out two suitcases, and started packing.

Only my stuff—clothes, documents. Anything he bought, even socks, I left behind.

I zipped the last suitcase.

The door unlocked with a fingerprint scan.

Peter walked in, holding a fancy cake box.

He looked tired—but there was this easy confidence in his eyes.

In his hand was that famous blueberry cake from downtown. My favorite. Every time I got upset, he'd bring it to smooth things over.

He spotted the suitcases and frowned.

Then it vanished. He set the cake on the coffee table, voice softening. "Babe, still mad?"

He stepped in to hug me, like always.

I moved.

His hand hung there for a second before he pulled it back.

"Alright, enough with the attitude. I dragged Gina to file for divorce first thing this morning. See? I kept my word."

He pointed at the clock. "It's noon. We missed the ceremony, but we can still make the banquet. Go change. The makeup artist's already at the hotel. It's our big day. Don't let everyone laugh at us."

Like filing for divorce and bringing a cake fixed everything. Like I should just fall back into place.

I looked at him, calm.

No anger. No tears. No running into his arms.

I pulled a paper from my pocket and handed it over.

Peter paused, a faint smile forming. "What's this? A written apology? Or a prenup?"

He took it, glanced down.

His smile froze.

It was a death certificate.

Grandma's name was printed clear. Time of death: 4:05 a.m.

The exact moment he'd been at the station—pushing me aside over Gina's $200,000.

His hand started shaking. His voice broke. "Th-This... what is this supposed to mean? Joey, don't joke about this..."

I looked at him, calm. "You don't need to divorce her. The wedding's canceled for good. So are we."