...

That night, I scrolled through Megan's social media.

A video showed a plate of neatly-cut steak and a glowing scented candle nearby.

The vibe was romantic, and the caption was ambiguous.

[Can't cut this steak. Good thing Desmond is here.]

A familiar voice sounded in the background. It was none other than Desmond.

Soon, Megan posted again.

Her manicured fingers held a glass jar of candy, her excited squeals filling the air.

[OMG! Thank you for the gift!]

I knew that brand. It was very expensive.

Years ago, on my birthday, I saw it while shopping with Desmond, but the price stopped me cold.

Desmond cupped my face, promising he'd buy it for me someday. He kept that promise, but it was for another woman.

I scrolled through her posts again and again until Desmond came out of the bathroom, his face darkening at the sound.

He snatched my phone and tossed it onto the pillow. "You freaked Megan out today with your attitude. I just took her to dinner to apologize. That candy is just kid stuff. I was gonna get it for you, but you said you were dieting. Would have been a waste."

'Dieting? Since when?' I snorted inwardly, but I didn't argue or question him.

I just grabbed my phone, plugged it in, and shrugged. "No big deal. I don't even like that candy anyway. It contains a lot of calories and would take tremendous workouts to burn off. Thanks for the thoughts, though."

He sensed something off with my tone, but my face gave nothing away.

He knelt on the bed, wrapping an arm around me. "We haven't gone out in forever. How about the day after tomorrow? Dinner and a movie? You dumped your old clothes, right? I'll buy you new ones. And marriage... We talked about it before. I've been swamped, but I'll get you a ring, okay?"

He had been promising to marry me for five years. Now it was just a joke.

With four days to go until I left, I didn't want to get tangled up with him, so I didn't commit. "Sure, if we've got time."

Before he could say more, I lay down, pulled the blanket over me, and switched off the lamp.

"Sleep. It's late," I added.

Desmond finally noticed that the house was emptying. He stared at the bare dresser, freaking out. "Where is your stuff?"

"Black Friday is coming up. Need room for new things," I muttered.

He bought it, sliding into bed and trying to inch under my blanket. "Let's go out tomorrow. I'll book a restaurant and pick you up."

His effort to get close made me uneasy. I shifted away. "Alright. Just stop crowding me."

...

The next day, Desmond texted me the plan early.

We'd dine at a steakhouse at 7:30, shop at 8, and watch a movie at 9. Everything was perfectly arranged, like he'd done it a million times.

Before, he never bothered with dates, calling them a waste of time.

...

I waited from 7:30 to 9, starving, so I made myself some pasta.

With my hand injured and Desmond buried in work, we had arranged for Bruce Maynard to go to a nursing home a few days ago.

I stopped being the free caretaker, and Desmond couldn't handle it.

It was ironic that he couldn't even stand his family.

At 10 p.m., I washed off my makeup, showered, and crawled into bed.

Pain shot through my stomach in the middle of the night.

I stumbled out of bed and collapsed in sweat. Shaking, I pulled out the emergency contact and dialed Desmond's number.

The phone rang five times before it went through.

"Desmond, come back," I said weakly.

What came from the other end was Megan's voice. "Desmond is talking to a client. What's up? I'll pass it on."

Her tone oozed smugness.

I hung up, biting back the pain, and called an ambulance.

...

When I opened my eyes again, something heavy was on my hand.

I looked down and found Desmond asleep beside me. I pulled my hand free, and he stirred.

His face was tight with worry. "I'm so sorry. Investors suddenly came to the lab. I showed them around and forgot our date. Megan answered your call but failed to sense anything wrong. I shouldn't have left you alone and let you end up in the hospital. It was all my fault, but I got you a ring. Try it on."

He pulled a small box from his pocket, slipped out a ring, and put it on my finger.

The diamond was visibly bigger than my size.

He pressed his lips together and asked tentatively, "Are you upset?"

I shook my head. "Not really."

He frowned at my nonchalance. "If you don't like it, we'll pick another when you're better."

I declined, "No need. It's fine."

"Are you all right?" He blinked, confused and anxious.

I forced a smile, my face pale but calm. "I'm fine. I get how busy you are. Work matters."

He wanted to say more, but his phone rang.

I recognized the special ringtone he had set for Megan, but this was nothing new.

"Go answer it. She might need you for something," I said.

He didn't move until Megan called the third time. He faltered, "I'll take this outside. Will be right back."

I nodded, and he never came back.

With two days left, I pulled out the love letters he wrote me.

He preserved the ones for Megan carefully, and I did the same for mine.

The thick stack showed no signs of dampness or bug bites. Only the pages were yellowing and peeling, a testament to the countless nights I had read them under the lamp.

In college, Desmond couldn't afford dates, and he refused my money.

Instead, he wrote letter after letter to show his love, convincing me that I was special.

But it had an expiration date. By this time, it was overdue.

...

The next day, I went to the airport, checking Megan's social media.

There was a photo of her raised hand, with a diamond ring sparkling on her finger.

I recognized it as the same one Desmond had tried on me in the hospital.

The caption was a blushing emoji, but it spoke endless emotions.

I commented: [Looks perfect on you.]

Three minutes later, Desmond called, furious. "Megan was just trying on the ring. Why are you being passive-aggressive on her post? As I said, this ring is yours, and I'll marry you. What's there to worry about? You should apologize to her, or we're done!"

Ignoring him, I grabbed my luggage and headed to the gate.

The broadcasting reached his ears, making him fret. He asked, "Where are you? The airport?"

My voice was flat. "Well, I'm tired of these 13 years. It's time to end this. Keep that ring. It fits Megan just fine."

I hung up and boarded the plane.