Chapter 3

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.

Chapter 4

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."

Chapter 5

I stared at the cold pasta. "I've decided. I'm going. But I'm divorcing Peter."

She paused, then said softly, "Alright."

She never liked him—not even from the start. I probably should've seen it sooner—Peter ditching his morals the second Cindy snapped her fingers.

She was his late mentor's only daughter. Peter, ever the responsible guy, had promised to look after her. So whatever she wanted, he gave.

Even if it meant giving her a kid.

"I'll book your ticket. Lionel will be there to pick you up."

Lionel Rinehart. Childhood friend. Aunt Sophia's golden student.

After the call, the divorce agreement hit my inbox. I headed to Peter's study to print it and found a folder full of his chats with Cindy.

All sweet words and flirty messages. He kept telling her not to hope for more—but I knew better.

Cindy already owned a part of him.

He let her believe in the fantasy. Let her stomp all over me.

But I didn't love him anymore. Not even a little. Calm, steady, I copied every single message.

Even if he refused to sign, I had proof.

***

I signed the papers clean, then dropped off my resignation at the hospital.

Rebecca, the hospital director, looked shocked.

I smiled. "My aunt wants me to settle down in Hampsburg."

"And your husband?"

I glanced at the clasp on my bag, still smiling. "We're divorcing. I'm sure the hospital's heard by now—Peter's been hanging around OB-GYN. Says she's his sister, but come on, Rebecca. We're both women. We know what that really means."

She didn't say a word. Just signed the resignation.

"Yuna, the world's a lot bigger when you stop tying yourself to love."

I took the papers and headed to my office to pack.

The whole department looked at me with that soft, pitying kind of sympathy.

Before leaving, I made one last stop—OB-GYN.

Down the hall, I saw Peter, eyes all soft, watching Cindy breastfeed the baby.

Pain hit like a punch to the chest.

I snapped a photo.

***

Back home, I packed light—just clothes and books. Everything from Peter? Left it.

In the car, he kept blowing up my phone. [What do you want for dinner? When should I pick you up?] Like nothing happened.

I didn't text back.