At the same time, a message popped up:

[Ticket's booked. See you in Parisia in a month.]

***

That night, Nathan showed up in my dream.

Not the smug jerk he became—but little Nathan.

"Joelle, your eyes are so pretty. Can I look at them when I talk to you?"

"Joelle, you play piano so beautifully. Can I come listen every day?"

"Joelle, I like you the most! When we grow up, I'm gonna marry you!"

And I liked him too.

We sat together in class, played after school.

Even the day my parents died, I was in his family's car, goofing around.

We were mid–rock-paper-scissors when the truck came out of nowhere.

Boom—

My parents. My brother. Even my dog. Gone.

The cars were impossibly close—I watched helplessly as my entire family perished.

After that, I couldn't speak.

Couldn't sleep unless Nathan was there.

He used to be different—gentle, patient.

Helped me learn to talk again. Told me stories when the nightmares got bad.

Anyone called me "dumb," he'd deck them. No hesitation.

Marrying him? Back then, it just felt right.

The day after I graduated college, he leaned over my bed at dawn.

"Joelle, let's get married."

So we did. Just like that.

In the dream, roses were everywhere—blood red, flooding the bed we used to share.

He knelt on it, kissed me.

"Joelle, we'll be this happy forever."

Then I woke up.

Pitch black.

I fumbled for my phone.

New message—from Sophie.

A photo.

Their bed.

Trashed.

Red smears across the sheets.

My stomach twisted.

I ran for the bathroom, dry heaving over the sink.

Nothing came up—just tears.

I slid to the floor, hugging my knees, freezing tile under me.

At some point, my hand must've hit something on the screen.

Then—

A deep voice.

"Joelle?"

My heart stuttered.

I grabbed the phone. "Wi–William?"

***

William Windsor was just another name on the patient list. One of us.

Three years deep into therapy and yeah, aphasia still flared up now and then, but I could talk again. Mostly.

Unless I was spiraling.

In the early days of my marriage, I was doing alright. Life felt... breathable. So I joined a support group. Got paired with a check-in buddy.

That buddy? William.

For almost two years, I thought he was a girl.

His profile pic? A pink bunny.

Username? "Angel."

In the beginning, "she" barely acknowledged my existence.

But I got it.

We didn't stay quiet because we wanted to. Sometimes life just sucker-punched the words out of us.

We might not say much. It didn't mean we didn't need someone.

So I kept texting.

Tiny slices of my life.

Voice notes. Stupid pics. Random videos.

Eventually, it felt like we'd been besties forever.

Then came our first call—and bam. System error.

He was a guy.

***

"S-Sorry," I whispered, clutching my phone. "I... didn't mean to bother you..."

"You didn't," he said. "It's 9 p.m. here."

His speech was so smooth now.

And that was only our second call.

Ever since I found out he wasn't a girl, I'd kept my distance—hadn't texted or talked to him for almost a month.

This time was a total accident.

Last time, Nathan handed me the divorce papers.

William just happened to text and ask what I was doing.

My brain just short-circuited the second I saw the divorce papers.

I only replied: [Getting divorced.]

After signing the papers, I ducked outside Nathan's office, shaking.

[William, I think I'm about to lose my home.]

No dad. No mom. No brother. Not even the dog I loved more than most people.

And now? No Nathan.

What was even left?

Didn't expect his reply:

[Why don't you just marry me?]

Inside, the circus rolled on.

"Yeah right, like Joelle's actually pulling off a divorce. The second she dumps Nathan, she'll forget how to speak."

"If she ends up in court, she'll totally lose it. Full meltdown."

"Really?" Nathan let out a laugh.

Tossed his lighter on the table. "Even if she's bawling in court, she'll come crawling back and do whatever I say."

I stared through the door crack at the guy who used to be my everything—and now looked like a complete stranger.

And I texted William:

[Okay.]

***

William sent me a checklist.

Stuff to get done in a month:

Visa? Yep. Legal papers? Obviously.

But then came his real priority—like twenty places I just had to eat at before leaving the country.

He messaged: [Carmorian food abroad tastes terrible. Trust me.]

I laughed and took it seriously.

Started checking off restaurants like it was my new job.

Living alone suddenly didn't suck so much.

I ate, shopped, packed like a pro.

Then the day I finally ditched Nathan's place, he texted:

[Not gonna call me? Don't you miss me?]

Seriously? He was out vacationing with Sophie, doing the whole "let me show you the world" act.

Then came another text: [Bad girl.]

And a photo:

[Nice place. Should I bring you here for our anniversary too?]

Block him? I wanted to. The way I blocked Sophie without blinking.

But I still had to show up in court to collect the official papers, so I bit my tongue.

The next two weeks were a blur.

Sold off my jewelry, a couple bags.

Went to the hospital for a full checkup—just in case. Made sure I wasn't pregnant.

Then I started sorting through all the assets Nathan had left in my care over the years.

Night before the court date, he finally rolled back into Seavora.

Called like it was some casual catch-up.

"Joelle, you moved out?"

***

He was used to me staying quiet on the phone.

Laughed to himself. "You're too cute. I told you, it's all just for show."

Then, all chipper: "Let's make the act complete. Tomorrow, come with me to pick up the decree."

I gripped my phone.

He started, "Joelle, relax, it's just—"

"Okay," I cut in.

A loud cheer exploded on his end.

I hung up.

Sent him the appointment time right after.

Next morning, I got up early.

Nathan showed up late. Of course.

And yeah, Sophie left a faint bite mark on his lip—he pretended it wasn't there.

So did I.

Whole thing was over in five minutes. Even faster than last time.

"Nathan, I've got a surprise for you tomorrow," he said, kicking my leg.

I slid the decree into my bag.

"Nathan, you free tonight?" I asked. "There's something I want to tell you."

He froze.

Ever since we got married, I'd only ever called him 'Honey.'

Then he smiled, flicked his copy of the decree. "Sure."

***

No matter who Nathan turned into this past year, I couldn't completely erase the version of him from before.

I was still grateful—for the years he stuck around, for the way he used to care.

So yeah, I hadn't planned to leave without saying goodbye.

But then the storm rolled in.

Thunder. Lightning.

I hated nights like this.

The crash had happened on a night just like this.

I tried to steady myself as I waited for Nathan.

Part of me—ugh, dumb as it sounds—was scared that when he showed up, all those old habits would kick in.

That I'd fall apart and run straight into his arms.

But he never came.

Instead, he called.

I answered.

The background was a mess—loud music, people yelling, laughter.

"What redemption? What a joke! She drove me crazy for years!" His voice came. "If my mom hadn't forced me, I wouldn't have touched her!

"You know why we married so fast? Because she wouldn't even let me touch her!

"I was just curious—she gets aphasia when she's emotional, right? So what about in bed? Can she even make a sound? Hahaha."

Boom—

The thunder hit like it was aimed at me.

Like something inside me just ripped apart.

I wanted to vanish.

To curl up somewhere no one could see me.

But where?

It was all rain.

All thunder.

All his voice, laughing.

Then William called.

"Joelle?"

His voice was so calm, it cut through everything—the thunder, the rain, even the echo of Nathan's voice.

"Are you crying?"

I wanted to say no.

Really tried.

But nothing came out.

And like my silence gave him the answer, the tears just broke loose.

"Stay where you are," he said, steady as ever. "I'm coming to get you."

***

Nathan was single again.

A bunch of spoiled rich kids threw a "singles party" at the club, drowning in shots and laughs.

Bodies were sprawled out like crash test dummies.

Nobody knew the time until someone half-conscious grabbed their phone.

"Holy crap! Big news!"

A few heads popped up.

"That mega-loaded CEO of Windsor Corp? He's in Seavora. Took a private jet back overnight!"

One guy waved him off. "Nah. Wasn't he, like, MIA in another country for a decade?"

"It's real. He's literally blowing up right now!"

Phones flew from hand to hand.

The party went from dead to buzzing.

"Yo, it's him! And he's holding some girl! Rumor says he flew back just to take her outta here!"

"No PR, no nothing? That urgent?"

"Lemme see!"

"Wait... that girl looks crazy familiar..."

Someone jabbed Nathan. "Dude. Tell me that's not Joelle in his arms."

Nathan had been awake. Just didn't give a damn about anything Windsor-related.

"No way that's Joelle." He yanked the phone, clearly over it. "She's too chicken to leave Seavora, let alone the country..."

One lazy glance at the pic—then he froze.

Rain poured at the airport.

Under a black umbrella stood a tall guy with a cold, sharp jawline, totally blocking the downpour from the girl in his arms.

Nathan didn't need a second look.

He knew that silhouette.

That hair.

That was Joelle.

Impossible.

He slammed the phone down, heart kicking up.

How the hell would she even know someone like William Windsor?

She'd literally asked him to meet her tonight. After a month of no contact, she had to be dying to see him.

Nathan lit a cigarette, then grabbed his phone.

Scrolled to her name.

His thumb hovered.

3 a.m.

Forget it—she's probably out cold.

Then again, Joelle never missed his calls. Ever.

He lit the screen again.

Called.

"The number you have dialed is no longer in service."