“Post something in the family group chat. Now.” Owen's voice was clipped, impatient.

“Tell them you've been stressed at work, pre-wedding jitters, and you want to push the engagement party back.”

“Don't bring up Rosie. I don't need the relatives running their mouths.”

I pressed my hand against my stomach. Flat now. “Fine. Anything else?”

Owen paused, caught off guard. His tone softened a fraction.

“Bobbie, don't be too upset about all this.”

“Once Rosie's feeling better, I'll take you to pick out that wedding dress you liked.”

“I know today was hard on you.”

I said nothing. I hung up.

Hard on me?

No. It wasn't hard on me.

I was just disgusted.

I opened WhatsApp and scrolled to the post Rosamund had just put up on social media.

A slender, pale hand wearing an engagement ring.

The ring Owen and I had picked out together.

Our initials were engraved on the inside of the band.

He'd said it was too much trouble, that since Rosamund liked the design, he'd just lend it to her for a while. Calm her down.

“It's just a ring. I'll buy you a bigger one later.”

I stared at the photo.

My fingertip hovered over the screen for a long time.

Then, slowly, I raised my left hand.

On my ring finger, a faint indentation circled the skin.

A plain band ring I'd bought myself. Three years I'd worn it.

I forced it off.

The metal edge scraped skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

I placed the ring on top of the induced-labor consent form, right over my signature.

The nurse froze when she came to collect the paperwork.

“Ms. Summers, the ring……”

“I don't want it.”

I turned my head toward the window. The sky was a flat, colorless gray.

“Put it toward the hospital bill.”

Eight years.

And a child who never got to see the world.

All of it died in that moment.

Three days later, I signed the discharge papers.

The doctor told me to stay in bed, rest, and under no circumstances touch cold water.

I nodded, then took a cab back to the Riverview Apartment alone.

This was the place Owen and I had set up for after the wedding.

On the coffee table in the living room, an unopened box of wedding favors still sat waiting.

I pulled open the drawer beneath the table.

Inside was a thick binder of pre-wedding checklists.

Venue layout, guest list, every last detail in my handwriting.

Underneath the binder was a pink envelope folder.

I slid it out.

Inside were a stack of prenatal reports and several pairs of baby socks with the tags still on.

I'd planned to surprise Owen with the news at the engagement party.

I'd even picked out a name.

It was written on the last page of the planning binder.

I turned to that page and looked at the two words I'd penciled in. The name I'd chosen for our baby.

My vision blurred.

The lock beeped once, soft and electronic.

Owen walked in.

He was wearing the black coat I'd bought him, a sleek gift bag in one hand.

He stopped when he saw me on the couch.

“You're out of the hospital?”

He walked over and set the bag on the coffee table.

“Why didn't you call me? I would've picked you up.”

“No need.” I tucked the envelope folder back into the drawer.

“I got myself home.”

Owen sighed and sat down beside me.

He reached over to touch my hair.

I tilted my head away.

His hand hung in the air. Something in his expression hardened.

“Bobbie, how long are you going to keep this up?”

He pulled his hand back, a thin thread of exasperation in his voice.

“I already told you, the engagement party is only postponed.”

“Rosie was really shaken up that day. She's all alone in this city. If I don't look after her, who will?”

“You're usually so easygoing. Why are you picking a fight with someone who's still recovering?”

I looked at him.

“Owen.”

“Do you have any idea what these past three days have been like for me?”

Owen frowned.

“I know you've been upset.”

He pushed the paper bag on the coffee table toward me.

“This is from that chestnut cake place on the south side you love. I waited in line half an hour for it.”

“Stop being mad, okay?”

He was using that tone, the one you'd use to coax a child.

I looked at the bag with its elegant logo.

“Rosamund's leftovers?”

Owen's expression froze.

“What are you talking about?”

“That shop is on the south side. The hospital is on the north side. You came straight from the hospital. Why would you go all the way across town for cake?”

I held his gaze. My voice was completely flat.

“Rosamund likes chestnuts, but she's allergic to peanuts.”

“This shop puts crushed peanuts in their chestnut cake.”

“You bought it for her. She couldn't eat it. So you brought the rest home to me. Am I wrong?”

Owen's eyes flickered away for a second.

But he recovered fast, straightening up like he had nothing to be ashamed of.

“So what if I did?”

“I figured you like it too. What's the big deal?”

“Roberta, do you have to make everything sound so ugly?”

He stood up and looked down at me.

“I've been at the hospital taking care of Rosie for days. I'm exhausted.”

“Can you stop nitpicking over every little thing?”

Nitpicking.

I nearly laughed.

“Owen, do you even know what I lost?”

I tilted my head up to look at him.

Owen blinked, caught off guard.

“It's just an engagement party.”

He tugged at his tie, irritated.

“I told you I'd make it up to you. What more do you want?”

“Is saving face really that important to you?”

I watched him in silence.

Watched the impatience in his eyes, the certainty that he'd done nothing wrong.

Every explanation I had left died in my throat.

He didn't even know what injuries I'd sustained.

He didn't care.

I stood up. The motion was too quick; pain tore through my abdomen.

I gritted my teeth against it and walked to the entryway.

“We're done.”

My voice was quiet, but every word was clear.

Owen went still.

He turned, eyes wide.

“What did you just say?”

“We're done.”

I said it again.

“There's no wedding. I'll contact a realtor to sell the apartment. Wire my share of the money to my account.”

Owen stared at me for a few seconds, then let out a cold laugh.

“Wow, Roberta. You've really grown a spine, haven't you?”

“Using a breakup to threaten me?”

He walked up to me, his gaze dripping with the smug certainty of a man who believed he could never be left.

“Fine. You want out?”

“Go ahead.”

“I'd love to see what you amount to without me.”

He grabbed his coat off the sofa and walked out without looking back.

“Call me when you've come to your senses.”

After Owen left, I took out my phone.

I opened the family group chat, the one titled "One Big Happy Family."

Both sets of parents were in it, along with a few relatives we saw regularly.

The chat had been dead silent ever since I'd announced three days ago that the engagement party was off.

My fingers moved across the keyboard.

No hesitation. I hit send.

【Dear family, apologies for the interruption.】

【Owen and I have officially broken up due to irreconcilable differences.】

【The engagement party is canceled. There will not be another one.】

【Thank you all for your concern. Wishing everyone good health.】

Owen's mother was the first to respond：

【Bobbie, what on earth are you saying? Why would you two break up out of nowhere?】

My mom panicked too and called me immediately on voice.

I didn't pick up. I just switched my phone to silent.

Less than five minutes later, the keypad on the front door beeped again.

Owen stormed in, practically shaking with rage.

His phone was clenched in his fist, the screen still open to the family group chat.

“Have you lost your mind, Roberta?”

He crossed the room in three long strides, disbelief burning in his eyes.

“Why the hell would you post something like that in the group chat?”

“You know my mother has a heart condition. She can't handle this kind of shock!”

I sat on the couch and took a calm sip of warm water.

“I stated a fact.”

“We broke up. Of course the family should know.”

“Who agreed to break up?”

Owen's voice cracked upward, a vein pulsing at his temple.

“Roberta, there's a limit to how far you can push a tantrum!”

“Is this all because I didn't spend enough time with you the past few days?”

“Rosie is an orphan. I'm the only friend she has in this city.”

“She was in a car accident. The psychological trauma is serious. What's wrong with me looking after her a little more?”

He drew a deep breath and switched to a tone of weary sincerity.

“Bobbie, we've been together eight years.”

“Since college. I'd like to think I've treated you well.”

“You can't throw away eight years over something this small.”

“Eight years?” The corner of my mouth curved, but there was nothing warm in it.

“Owen, do you even remember what I was wearing the day of the accident?”

Owen went still.

His mouth opened, but nothing came out for a long time.

Of course he didn't remember.

Because that day, he never once looked at me.

“You don't remember.” I answered for him.

“And you don't remember that it was the day of my wedding-gown fitting.”

“I was wearing that white dress you always loved. By the time they loaded me into the ambulance, it was soaked red with blood.”

Something shifted behind Owen's expression.

“Why are you bringing this up now?”

“You're sitting right here, perfectly fine, aren't you?”

“Rosie's different. She's sensitive. She can't handle the slightest bit of hardship……”

“So I'm the one who deserves to suffer. Is that it?”

I cut him off.

“Bobbie, that's not what I meant……”

He stepped forward, reaching for my hand.

I stepped back, just out of his reach.

“Owen, drop the act.”

I looked at him, my gaze ice-cold.

“You know exactly who you chose.”

“Since you chose her, don't stand in front of me pretending you care.”

I turned and walked to the bedroom, pulling a pre-printed property-sale authorization from the drawer.

I came back and tossed it onto the coffee table in front of him.

“This apartment is joint property. I've already contacted a broker. It goes on the market tomorrow.”

“Proceeds split fifty-fifty.”

Owen stared at the document. The rims of his eyes were turning red.

“You're serious?”

His jaw clenched, his voice trembling faintly.

“Roberta, you think you'll find someone better than me out there?”

“You're twenty-eight. Who else is going to want you?”

“That's no longer your concern.”