Faith Frazier POV:

The young woman who had just landed in Dale's arms was Jetta Mcpherson, a junior coder from his company. I' d seen her before, in passing, at company events. He had initially dismissed her, almost with a sneer, as too green, too eager. But that had changed. I remembered a conversation we' d had, just a few months ago, on my birthday. He was supposed to be celebrating with me, but instead, he spent half the night on his laptop, chatting with Jetta about some project. He praised her intelligence, her ambition, her "fresh perspective."

"Can we please talk about something else?" I'd asked, my voice tight with an unfamiliar insecurity.

He' d stopped, his smile fading, and simply said, "Fine." The topic never came up again, not directly. But now I understood why. He had told me, weeks later, that Jetta had been transferred to another team, that their connection was purely professional and now severed.

He had lied. My stomach churned with the bitter taste of betrayal.

The night outside was cold, a light snow beginning to fall. I walked home in a daze, the flakes melting on my cheeks, indistinguishable from the tears that had begun to stream down my face. My fingers fumbled with the keypad, punching in the familiar code to our penthouse. The door clicked open. He hadn't changed it. A tiny, fragile spark of hope flickered within me, quickly drowned by the crushing weight of reality.

The apartment was warm, the underfloor heating radiating a comforting heat that only made the cold knot in my chest ache more. My gaze fell on the glass display cabinet in the living room. I stared at it for what felt like an eternity, my heart contracting with each passing second. Then, without warning, the tears came, hot and furious, blurring my vision.

Inside the cabinet, bathed in a soft, warm glow, was a thick stack of airline tickets. Each one meticulously numbered. There were nearly a thousand. "Proof of my love," he had called them, his eyes twinkling with pride. "When I hit a thousand, I'm going to propose."

I remembered the countless nights I had spent in London, studying relentlessly, sacrificing sleep to finish my architecture fellowship early. My friends teased me for burying myself in books, for not enjoying the vibrant city life. But I didn't care. All I wanted was to be back in his arms, to build a future with him. I remembered the time I got sick, a fever so high I could barely stand. I swallowed extra fever reducers, plastered a smile on my face during our video calls, and told him how much I missed him. Every sacrifice, every ounce of effort, was for him, for us. I had finally achieved my goal, returned home, earlier than expected, my heart full of dreams.

But reality was a cruel mistress. Everything was too late. His love, once so pure, had curdled into something unrecognizable.

The front door opened then, and Dale stepped in, his eyes wide with concern when he saw me crumpled on the floor, shaking. "Faith? What's wrong?" he rushed forward, trying to pull me into his arms.

I pushed him away, the touch burning my skin. My eyes squeezed shut, nails digging into my palms. I fought for control, my voice a ragged whisper. "I heard her. On the phone. Who was that, Dale?" My voice trembled. "Why were you meeting a woman late at night?"

He met my gaze. And in his eyes, I saw it: a chilling blend of indifference, coldness, and profound weariness. His face hardened. "Do we have to do this right now?" he asked, his voice flat as he stepped back, creating a chasm between us. "She's just a colleague. Nothing more."

A colleague? My mind screamed. A colleague you embrace, a colleague you lie about?

He motioned to a small gift box and a beautifully decorated cake on the coffee table. "It's for you. I was coming home to surprise you."

My anger flickered, replaced by a momentary surge of confusion and a painful mix of hope and heartbreak. Could I have been wrong?

But then his voice, cold and sharp, sliced through my fragile hope. "You're being unreasonable, Faith. You have no right to accuse Jetta like that. She's so much more ambitious, more understanding. She never makes a fuss." He picked up the box and the cake, his jaw tight. "If you keep this up, I'll get tired too."

With a sudden, furious gesture, he threw the gifts into the trashcan. The delicate cake splattered, a messy ruin, just like our love.

Faith Frazier POV:

I was never one for dramatics. I prided myself on my rationality, my calm demeanor. But that night, sleep offered no escape. I thrashed in bed, locked in a furious, tear-soaked argument with Dale in my dreams.

"You said you were tired, Dale!" I screamed in the dream, tears streaming down my face. "But you never told me! You let me believe everything was fine! Whose fault was it, really, that I went abroad? I went because you encouraged me, because we planned a future together!" My dream-self was a whirlwind of accusations. "Why couldn't you just tell me you were struggling? Why did you hide it?"

The dream ended as all our recent conversations did: in a cold, bitter stalemate.

I woke with a pounding headache, the phantom arguments echoing in my ears. Dale was already awake, dressed impeccably, exuding his usual charismatic aura. Our eyes met across the room, and for a long moment, we simply stared, the silence thick with unspoken words. He sighed, a weary sound. "Don't make a scene, Faith," he said, his voice implying I was already being difficult.

He knelt, and for a moment, I saw the ghost of the boy I fell in love with, his young face earnest and full of devotion. He slipped my warm boots onto my feet, his touch gentle. But the familiar flutter in my heart was gone, replaced by a dull ache of bitterness and cold.

"Jetta is just a subordinate, a colleague," he repeated, his words a hollow comfort. "I can take you to the hospital, you can see for yourself. There's nothing going on." He sounded almost convincing. "We can talk properly then."

"Okay," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "But I have something to tell you first."

I had made my decision. I would pursue another advanced degree, at a university far from New York, a place where he had no connections, no influence. I had already booked a flight for a week later. This wasn't anger; it was a carefully considered escape. His words had been like shards of glass, embedding themselves deep in my flesh, a constant, throbbing pain. I wanted a love that was pure, untainted. If I couldn't have that, I would rather have nothing.

I wanted a clean break, for both our sakes.

The car ride to the hospital was silent. The tension in the air was so thick you could almost taste it. As we pulled up, his phone rang. I heard the muffled sound of a woman crying, a soft, pathetic wail. Dale's face immediately contorted with concern. "Something's come up," he said, his eyes already darting away from mine. "I need you to go up to the office first, I'll meet you there."

I wanted to tell him I didn't know the way, but he was already gone, his silhouette disappearing around the corner. I stood alone in the vast, empty parking lot, a sudden chill creeping into my bones. It took me a while to find my bearings, the sterile hospital environment feeling alien and overwhelming.

I finally found the right floor and approached the nurses' station. Their excited chatter carried clearly through the air. "Did you hear?" one whispered, "Mr. Atkins rushed here the moment Jetta called! She was so upset." Another chimed in, "He's so sweet. He treats her like a girlfriend."

My steps faltered. This was his "emergency."

"Apparently, he's always doting on her," a third nurse added. "Teaching her everything, hand-holding, the works. I even heard her family teasing him, asking when they were getting married!"

One nurse, a kind-faced woman, raised an eyebrow. "But doesn't he have a fiancée?"

"Oh, she's probably just some old hag he's stuck with," scoffed another. "Jetta is so much prettier, so much younger, and smart too! No wonder he prefers her."

A wave of self-loathing washed over me, threatening to consume me whole. I felt small, insignificant, unwanted. I turned, a bitter laugh bubbling in my throat.

And there they were: Dale and Jetta, standing at the end of the hallway. Jetta was wearing the anniversary jacket I had bought for Dale from London, the one he had told me was "too precious" to wear, that he had "put away for safekeeping."

He had woven a web of beautiful lies, each one now tearing at my flesh, leaving me bruised and raw. Jetta, her face a picture of innocent distress, was crying softly. Dale, his eyes filled with tender affection, gently wiped her tears. "Don't worry," he murmured, his voice a balm. "No one will ever hurt you again, not while I'm here."

"Who was that woman on the phone last night, Dale?" Jetta asked, her voice a soft, childlike plea.

Dale hesitated, a long, agonizing silence stretching between us. Then, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, "Just a friend. No one important."

Faith Frazier POV:

"No one important."

Those two words, spoken with such cold indifference, twisted in my gut like a knife. A bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips. I looked at Dale, then at Jetta, and a stark realization hit me: I was nothing to him. A stranger.

Jetta, sensing victory, beamed. Her eyes, bright with a newfound possessiveness, flickered with triumph as she tiptoed, her soft lips brushing against Dale' s jawline. He didn't pull away. He just stood there, letting her mark her territory. My blood ran cold. The world spiraled around me, and I felt myself falling, falling into a black abyss.

I don't remember how I got downstairs or how I found myself back in our apartment. My phone buzzed again. It was Dale. His voice was hoarse, tinged with a nervous edge. "Did you… see anything?" he asked, the hesitation in his tone a clear admission of guilt.

"Are you afraid I did?" I retorted, the words burning my throat. Tears welled up, salty and bitter, tracing paths down my face. I couldn't understand. If he cared enough to ask, why did he betray me?

He let out a relieved sigh. "Look, just come back up, okay? Let's talk." His voice was light, almost cheerful.

"There's nothing left to talk about," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion, and hung up. I ignored his outraged shouts from the other end.

The task of erasing a decade of my life was monumental. I packed two large suitcases, filled with all the expensive gifts Dale had showered on me – the designer clothes, the jewelry, the limited-edition art pieces. Valuables that once symbolized his love now felt like shackles. I donated everything to a local charity, shedding the physical manifestations of a love that had become a gilded cage.

Then I walked to the glass cabinet. My hand trembled as I reached for the stack of airline tickets. The first one, faded and yellowed, brought a ghost of a smile to my lips. It was from our very first date, a weekend trip to Paris. He had kept it, a memento of new beginnings. The tenth, a surprise anniversary trip to Venice, where he proposed a picnic under the Rialto Bridge. The four-hundred-and-fiftieth – a picture of us, laughing, hand-in-hand, on a beach in Bali.

I hadn't forgotten anything. Every memory, every shared laugh, every tender moment was seared into my mind. A decade of love, etched into my very soul, now had to be ripped out, piece by agonizing piece.

I dropped the tickets, each one a testament to our history, into the fireplace. A match flared, igniting the corners of the paper. The flames danced, consuming the fragile remnants of our past. The warmth they generated was fleeting, quickly replaced by a chilling emptiness. I watched as the last embers died, leaving behind only ashes, a faint outline of city names still visible on the charred fragments.

A gaping void opened in my chest. My throat constricted, choked by a thousand untold sorrows. I couldn't speak, couldn't scream, couldn't cry. My heart was a barren wasteland, emptied of all emotion.

This was it. We were done. No debts, no lingering ties. Just ashes.