By evening, I had finished packing and collapsed onto the bed, drained and exhausted.

Just then, my best friend called.

“What the hell is going on with Kit? He’s completely out of line. Have you seen his social media?

“He’s flaunting his relationship with that vixen Katy like it’s some fairytale romance.

“You two aren’t even divorced—how can he do this?”

As she ranted, I casually scrolled through Instagram.

Right at the top of my feed was a new post from Katy.

In the photo, she wore a Van Cleef & Arpels clover necklace around her neck and held the same red gift bag Kit had picked up from home earlier.

That’s when it hit me.

He had returned at noon just to grab her present.

Below the image was a caption that made my stomach turn:

[Three years of knowing you, and I’m so lucky to have you, Kit. Happy third anniversary!]

Then it dawned on me.

Anniversary?

That’s right. Today was supposed to be our third wedding anniversary.

But we had never once celebrated it.

Not even enough for me to remember it.

I let out a long breath and finally replied to my friend.

“He doesn’t need to file for a divorce. We never got our marriage license.”

“What? You’ve been married three years, and Kit never made it official?”

Her shock nearly blew out my eardrum through the speaker.

Yes.

The wedding was three years ago, and he had called off registering our marriage seventeen times.

At 11 p.m., Kit did something rare—he came home.

As he stepped inside and removed his jacket, he reached to hang it behind the door.

Then he noticed the spot where our photo had once hung, and he froze.

“Our photo behind the door—is it gone?”

He didn’t even set down his coat before hurrying into the bedroom, a hint of panic in his voice.

“It fell and shattered,” I replied.

His eyes shifted toward the trash bin near the door, where shards of glass glinted under the light.

His shoulders relaxed slightly.

Then, placing his coat aside, he pulled out a shopping bag containing a Louis Vuitton purse.

“I didn’t get a chance to give you your gift yesterday,” he said.

“I got this for you. Happy anniversary.”

He set the bag on the bed.

For a moment, I wondered if I had misheard him.

Three years of marriage, and he finally remembered our anniversary?

But then I glanced at the receipt—the purchase had been made just thirty minutes ago.

Then it hit me.

Katy’s anniversary post must have reminded him, prompting this last-minute gesture.

He didn’t realize I already owned two purses of the same design.

I said nothing and looked at him steadily.

“Oh, and with the year-end approaching,” he continued, “the airline’s annual awards are coming up.

“Katy’s been in the industry for three years now, and her biggest wish is to win Best Flight Attendant, like you have for several years.

“Would you consider stepping aside to give her a chance?”

His tone was hesitant, almost pleading.

I smiled bitterly.

So, this spontaneous gift came with strings attached.

“Sure,” I replied calmly.

Not just this year.

Next year, the year after, and every year after that—I wouldn’t compete with her for the airline’s top honor again because after tonight, I was leaving.

“You… you agree to do it?”

He had not expected me to say yes so easily.

Kit kept glancing at me from the corner of his eye, uncertain, searching.

Then, unable to resist, he spoke again.

“Katy is my student. You’re her mentor’s wife—that’s how it should be, right?”

He paused, then added as if suddenly struck by inspiration, “Oh, right. I’m not flying tomorrow. Let’s go to the county clerk’s office and finally register our marriage.”

I didn’t say anything.

He seemed to recall, belatedly, that I had been packing earlier.

His tone softened.

“I almost forgot. You’re flying again tomorrow, aren’t you? What time’s your flight?”

“Three in the afternoon,” I said, watching him.

I was ready to tell him tonight, this final night together, that I was leaving.

But before I could speak, his phone rang.

It was Katy.

Her sugary voice drifted through the speaker.

She had just gotten her period and didn’t have any pads.

She needed Kit’s help.

When he hung up, he looked at me sheepishly.

“Uh… Katy’s in a bit of a situation. She’s not great with these things. I should probably go help her.”

He almost sounded like he was asking for permission.

I swallowed the words I had been about to say, forced a smile, and nodded.

“It’s okay. Go.”

Relief washed over him.

He got up immediately.

Before leaving, he turned back once more.

“Your flight’s at three, so we’ll have time. Let’s meet at the county clerk’s office at ten tomorrow morning.

“I promise—no matter what happens this time, I’ll be there.”

I let out a bitter laugh.

In the end, he still hadn’t given me the chance to break things off face-to-face.

The next morning, I packed my luggage and skipped the trip to the county clerk’s office entirely.

I headed straight to the airport.

By noon, Kit still hadn’t called to ask why I hadn’t shown up to our appointment.

It wasn’t until I stood at the gate, moments away from boarding, that his message finally came through:

[Sorry, Katy wasn’t feeling well today, so I took her to the hospital.

[We missed our registration appointment again. Once you're back from this flight, I’ll go with you to get it done.]

I stared at the screen, my heart completely still.

So this was it, the 18th time he failed to show.

[Don’t bother, Kit. I’ve already given up.

[I’m flying to Solara. After today, we won’t see each other again.]

I sent the message, then reached for the power button to shut off my phone.

Before I could press it, the long-silent chat window exploded, buzzing wildly with incoming messages.