I closed the video, and bam—Cindy had dropped another message:

[Every time Peter comes to see me, I'm sore all over afterward.]

Before I could bail from the chat, a text from Peter popped up.

[Babe, what kind of cake do you want today? Strawberry, chocolate, or matcha?]

I just stared at it. How did he have time to play house with her and still pretend to care about me?

Didn't answer. Just shoved my phone deep into my pocket.

By the time my shift was almost over, my stomach was in knots—I'd skipped lunch. That's when a young nurse pushed into the lounge, grinning.

"Dr. Zander, your husband's here!"

And there he was—Peter. Flowers in one arm, cake and milk tea in the other.

I didn't even know what I felt. Just knew the smile on his face looked painfully fake.

He set the milk tea on the table, calling out to my coworkers to help themselves. Then he dropped the cake and flowers on my desk.

"I know you're not into milk tea, so I didn't get you one. Got you a matcha cake. Saw some camellias at the flower shop—figured you'd like them."

I stared at the bouquet, but all I could see was him in Cindy's kitchen, sleeves rolled up, apron on.

He leaned in, peeked at my screen, and kissed the top of my head.

"I checked your shift—no night duty. Can you clock out? Just picked up some fresh Boston lobster. Gonna cook it for you tonight."

The second his lips touched me, my skin crawled. I hadn't eaten since lunch, but now my stomach twisted and my chest felt tight.

I stood, brushed him off, voice tight. "Wait outside."

As I shrugged off my lab coat, Emma, the new intern, sipped her milk tea and muttered,

"Dr. Zander, your husband treats you so well. I hope I find someone like that someday."

I paused, then turned. "Don't count on it. Rely on yourself. Love and guys? Just bonus points in life."

She blinked, totally thrown.

I sighed. "For now, focus on your internship and thesis. Prof. Harington's not exactly a softie."

Emma groaned and flopped onto her desk. I slid the cake Peter brought in front of her, grabbed my bag, and walked out.

***

Peter was standing by the department board, staring like he was deep in thought. When he spotted me, he smiled and reached for my bag.

Noticing I only had my purse, he asked, "Where's the cake?"

"Gave it to the new intern, Emma. She's drowning in her thesis proposal."

I kept my tone flat. His smile twitched, then stalled.

He knew the old me would've never handed off something he brought. But now? I didn't even blink. That shift clearly threw him.

I didn't add anything—just kept walking.

If I hadn't seen Cindy's latest message, maybe I would've hesitated. But five minutes earlier, she'd sent a pic—two slices of cake, one strawberry, one matcha.

[Told Peter I wanted cake. He went out just to get it. He was going to give you the strawberry one, but I pouted a little, and he let me have it.]

Later, when Peter served the chicken soup, I looked at him through the steam.

"Peter, is there something you want to tell me?"

I still wanted to give him a shot—give us a shot after ten years.

He froze mid-scoop, guilt flashing in his eyes. The room went still. His mouth opened like he had something to say... but nothing came out.

The clink of the bowl hitting the table broke the silence. I looked up. Peter was grinning. "Didn't you always want to hit up an amusement park? Your birthday's coming. I'll take you."

I didn't say a word. Just kept stirring my soup like it had answers.

Days passed. Cindy kept blowing up my phone, bragging about how sweet Peter was being.

I watched him cook for me, squeeze out my toothpaste, kiss me good morning and goodnight. But all I saw were two different versions of him—and I was stuck somewhere in between.

***

Peter was up early on my birthday. By the time I was dressed, breakfast was already waiting.

He smiled. "Come eat, Yuna. After this, we'll head out. Got us a spot at that place you've been dying to try."

Later, when I came out fully ready, he clipped a Tiffany necklace around my neck.

He looked proud, kissed the corner of my mouth. "Knew it'd look perfect on you."

I stared at it. "Birthday gift?"

"Not exactly. There's more."

Right before we walked out, my phone buzzed. Message from Cindy:

[Happy birthday. But do you really think one word from me wouldn't bring Peter running?]

I didn't answer. Just glanced at Peter grabbing his coat.

His phone started going off—again and again. He checked it, frowned, hit decline, then walked over, took my bag, laced his fingers with mine. "Let's go."

Even in the car, his phone wouldn't shut up. He ignored it, but the texts kept lighting up the screen.

At a red light, I broke the silence. "Check it. Might be important."

***

Peter glanced at his phone—just for a second—and his whole expression shifted.

Then mine buzzed. Cindy again.

[So? Think he'll ditch you for me?]

I muted it and looked at him. His face said everything.

"Yuna, I'm sorry. Something came up at the firm. A client's demanding to meet today."

And just like that, whatever love I had left for him? Gone.

I didn't say a word. His jaw clenched. Light turned green. He drove.

Then I said, "Alright. Go."

He pulled over.

"Yuna, call a ride, okay? I'll try to make it back for dinner."

I got out without a word.

Called a ride. Went to the amusement park alone.

While watching the parade, lost in the crowd, Phoebe texted:

[That girl's in labor. Peter's been with her the whole time.]

I typed back:

[Got it.]

I slipped out of the crowd and called Lionel Rinehart, the noise of the park buzzing around me.

"Hey, can you get your friend in Rivera to draft up a divorce agreement? And if he can, have it ready to file ASAP."

There was a long pause. Then, "Yeah. I'll have him reach out."

When I got home, I opened the door to a floor covered in rose petals. On the table—wine, birthday cake, a bouquet.

But the house was quiet. Just the petals catching the last bit of sunset.

Peter must've set all this up earlier. I stood there, staring at the table, dazed, when the restaurant called.

"Hi there, just checking in—what time can we expect your arrival?"

I watched the curtain flutter in the breeze. "Sorry. Change of plans. Please cancel the reservation."

Next to the cake sat a tiny velvet box. I opened it—a diamond ring.

My chest tightened. I ended the call, but my phone wouldn't stop buzzing.

Somehow, Cindy found the energy to text mid-labor.

The first message was a photo—Peter peeling an apple at her hospital bedside.

[See? One word from me, and he's right here taking care of me.]

Then another pic—her huge baby bump.

[Our little one can't wait to meet the world. Yuna, Peter's REAL family now? That's me and our baby.]

***

I shut the jewelry box and chucked it straight into the trash.

Bottle of Romanée-Conti in hand, I stepped onto the balcony, letting the wind smack my face while the city lights blinked like nothing had happened.

Inside, my phone wouldn't quit ringing.

I staggered back in and grabbed it.

Peter had called a bunch—messages stacked up.

When it rang again, I finally picked up.

"Yuna, thank God. I was freaking out," he said, all breathless.

I stayed quiet. Let him keep acting.

"I've still got work to finish. Can't make it tonight. I'll make it up to you tomorrow, okay? You got the gift, right? I promised—one ring every birthday."

I glanced at the velvet box sitting in the trash.

Peter called my name a few more times. Then I heard Cindy crying out in the background.

"I get it," I said. "Go back to work."

He blew a kiss through the phone. I felt nothing but disgust.

Right after I hung up, another message from Cindy popped up:

[The baby's coming.]

Just seeing the cake made my stomach turn. I dumped it, along with the Floyd roses, straight into the trash.

Then I spotted Peter's wine cabinet.

That fancy bottle of Domaine Leroy caught my eye.

I finished the Romanée-Conti. Emptied the Leroy too.

I crashed onto the couch, eyes locked on the photo wall—shots Peter had carefully arranged of us smiling.

But all I could see was that video. Him and Cindy.

I ended up in the bathroom, curled over the toilet, dry heaving until there was nothing left.

The alcohol didn't knock me out. I stayed wide awake all night.

By the time the sky turned pale, Phoebe called.

"She had the baby. It's a boy."

My head pounded. I answered like a robot. "Okay."

By noon, Peter still hadn't shown. But Cindy? She texted again.

No words this time—just a pic.

Peter holding the baby, eyes soft.

I closed the chat and dialed Lionel's friend.

"Mr. Kane, is the divorce agreement ready? I don't want anything. I just want it done."

***

I made myself some pasta. Aunt Sophia called.

"Yuna, have you thought more about moving to Hampsburg? If you're worried about Peter, he could still work in Rivera. It's not that far."