I didn't go back to the garden. I left, taking a cab to our penthouse in Manhattan.

That evening, when Grayson pushed the door open, I was zipping up my suitcase.

I didn't look at him. "Genevieve tripped me with her cane today. Again. It was deliberate," I said, my voice flat. "She told me I wasn't as thoughtful as Sienna."

Grayson loosened his tie, his voice frayed with impatience. "She's been sick for two years, Juliet. She's allowed to be difficult. Just indulge her. What's the big deal?"

"Indulge her?" A laugh, sharp and brittle, escaped my lips. I held up the linen dress I’d been wearing, now stained with soup. "She did this."

"That's enough!" Grayson snatched the dress from my hand, throwing it onto the bed. "You never used to be like this!"

"Like what?" I shot to my feet, my eyes stinging. "Like getting up at five every single morning to cook her goddamn hypoallergenic meals? Or kneeling on the floor to scrub carpets she deliberately ruins, all while she calls me a jinx?"

Grayson swallowed, turning his face away. "You know why Mom had that anaphylactic shock."

The room fell silent, the accusation hanging thick in the air.

My nails dug into my palms.

That phone call.

Two years ago, on our anniversary, I’d just wrapped a major architectural photography shoot. Genevieve called.

"Don't answer it," I'd whispered, my arms wrapped around his waist. "Not tonight. It's our anniversary…"

Grayson hesitated, then bent to kiss me. "Just a minute."

"You always say that!" My nerves raw with exhaustion, I snapped and grabbed the phone, silencing it. "Don't you dare answer that. If you do, this night is over!"

I remembered the look in his eyes: shock, helplessness, and finally, weary resignation.

He sighed, set the phone aside, and pulled me into his arms. "Okay. I won't."

The next day, we got the call. Genevieve had gone into severe anaphylactic shock. Because no one had answered her calls for help, treatment was delayed. She almost died.

"Yes, I owe her," I admitted, my voice hoarse. "So for two years, I sacrificed my career, pouring everything I had into caring for her. And for what? To be tormented by her and have Sienna treat me like the hired help?"

Grayson ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Sienna's moving in tomorrow."

"What?"

"My mom likes having her around." His tone softened, like he was reasoning with a difficult child. "It's just for a few months. As soon as she's stable, Sienna will leave."

"Grayson," I cut in softly. "I went to the law firm today."

He went completely still.

"The paralegal said our divorce is final in ten days." I watched his face turn to stone. "Those papers you had me sign… that was a divorce agreement, wasn't it?"

"So you know!" He lunged forward, grabbing my wrist. "Mom forced me to do it! It was just to keep her happy for a while!"

"And you couldn't tell me?" I wrenched my hand from his grasp. "Seven years, Grayson. I don't even get the right to know?"

He exploded. "Can you stop being so damn aggressive? Do you have any idea how hard this is for me? I'm caught in the middle!"

I froze.

The first time he took me to meet his family. At a high-profile New York gala, his mother had announced to a table of socialites, "The only Prescott daughter-in-law will be Sienna." Later, on a balcony, Grayson held me while I cried. "My mom's just got a bad temper, just bear with her. It's so hard for me, being stuck in the middle."

When Genevieve refused to come to our wedding, he'd said, "She just needs time, Jules. It's hard for me…"

After the accident, he knelt at my feet, begging me to give up my career to care for her. "Jules, you're the only one who can help me through this."

Every time, I had been the one to yield.

"Grayson," I said, a sudden, profound exhaustion settling over me. "Do you still love me?"

The hesitation was only a fraction of a second, but I heard it. "Of course I do!" he blurted out.

"Juliet, don't make this harder than it has to be."

I sighed. Ten days. That's all that was left. I could indulge him for ten more days.

I gave a slight, silent nod.

"Sienna will stay in the guest room," Grayson said, a clumsy attempt to smooth things over. "You should get some rest."

The moment the door clicked shut, I sank onto the bed.

A sliver of moonlight cut through the curtains, illuminating a dusty photo frame on the nightstand.

In the picture, Grayson was giving me a piggyback ride on a beach in Santorini. A wave had just soaked my dress, and he’d turned his head, laughing. "Hold on tight, Mrs. Prescott!"

Seven years of love. It felt as solid as a mountain and as fragile as glass.

I pulled out my phone and sent a message: [The plan is on. Pick me up in ten days.]

Just as I hit send, the sound of shattering glass echoed from downstairs.

I went down to see Genevieve being pushed into the foyer in her wheelchair by Sienna. A team of movers followed, carrying boxes and luggage.

"Well, look who decided to come down," Genevieve said, her eyelids heavy with disdain. "I thought you planned to hide in your room all night."

Sienna stood beside her, holding a cup of herbal tea. "Genevieve just finished her physical therapy," she said sweetly. "The doctor said she needs to be more active."

"Physical therapy?" My eyes dropped to her legs.

Genevieve patted her own knee smugly. "Surprised? The doctor says I'm making a wonderful recovery. I should be back on my feet in no time."

She gestured upstairs. "Sienna is staying with us now. It'll be easier for her to take care of me. Your opinion on the matter is irrelevant."

I said nothing, just turned my head and met Grayson's gaze with a faint smile.

He cleared his throat. "Juliet already agreed," he said in a low voice.

Genevieve froze, then let out a grunt. "Hmph. About time she learned her place."

Sienna immediately beamed, linking her arm with Genevieve's.

"Genevieve, let me help get your things upstairs."

Genevieve patted her hand. "Go on. Pick any room you like."

Sienna's eyes lit up. She hurried upstairs, and moments later, a loud crash echoed from the second floor.

I looked up. Sienna was directing the staff to take down my photography wall.

That wall was a map of the world Grayson and I had explored together, from the Northern Lights in Iceland to the deserts of Morocco.

"Ugh, these are so gloomy. They totally clash with the aesthetic we're going for now," Sienna chirped, tossing a frame aside with a dismissive flick of her wrist. Then she pointed to a large group photo. "Take that one down, too. It's an eyesore."

One by one, the photos came down, including a shot from our small wedding in Central Park.

Grayson stood at the top of the stairs, his brow furrowed. He looked like he wanted to protest, but instead, his eyes found mine. "Just… let her. We can hang them back up later."

I smiled and said nothing.

Sienna peeked over the railing, her voice cloyingly sweet. "Grayson, I want the master bedroom! It's closer to Genevieve's room, so I can take better care of her."

Genevieve nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes, that's very thoughtful of you, dear."

Grayson’s eyes flickered to me, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

But I just nodded calmly. "Fine. I'll move to the guest room."

I turned to head upstairs, but Grayson's hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. "You're not yourself."

I turned back. "What's wrong? Isn't this what you all wanted?"

"But you…" He frowned, confused. "You're not usually like this."

"The 'me' from before?" I gave a dry laugh. "I thought this docile version was what you always wanted."

I shook off his hand, walked straight into the master bedroom, and began to pack.

Grayson followed, leaning against the doorframe, watching as I folded my clothes and placed them in my suitcase. Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore.

"What is wrong with you?"

I glanced up at him. "I'm making room."

He swallowed hard, but for once, he had nothing to say.