On the way home, I called my mother back.

"Mom, Lance and I aren't getting married."

The line went quiet for a few seconds, and then came a long, drawn-out sigh.

"Then come home."

"Okay."

The moment I hung up, my phone lit again.

A system reminder popped up on the screen.

【Today marks your seventh anniversary with Mr. Lance Simmons.】

I looked at the watch already tucked in my bag and let out a bitter laugh.

I'd planned to use this little surprise on our seventh anniversary to bring up marriage with him, properly this time.

By the time he got home, the hour hand on the wall had already swung to ten.

He set an iced latte on the table, his tone flat.

"I had dinner with Melanie today, talked over some things about the group home. That's why I'm late."

I gave a small "mm," then lifted my head and looked at this man I'd loved for seven years, and I opened my mouth like I wanted to punish myself.

"Lance, when are we getting married?"

I wanted an answer from his own mouth, the kind that would kill every last bit of hope in me.

His hand froze halfway out of his coat, his brows knitting tight.

"Have you lost your mind?"

"It's 2026. We agreed our wedding would be in 2030."

"Frances, bringing this up now, you're throwing off my whole plan."

I couldn't help laughing out loud. Right, I'd almost forgotten his rules.

But if the woman he was marrying were Melanie, he'd probably rush off to sign the papers with her tomorrow.

Early the next morning, I handed in my resignation.

Adrian looked at me, his face full of regret.

"Frances, it wasn't easy getting to where you are. Are you sure you want to quit?"

I looked out the window and nodded.

"Yes."

I hadn't seen my mother in a long time. I missed her.

Every time she came to visit me, arms loaded with bags, Lance was unhappy.

He said he didn't like being disturbed in his private time, and every time he'd go cold and find some excuse to send her off to a hotel.

The thought of it soured in my chest all over again.

Adrian sighed.

"All right, then."

The paperwork was done that same day.

Back home, I booked a ten a.m. flight for the next day, then started packing.

Clothes, toiletries, odds and ends. Before long I'd stuffed it all into the suitcase.

At last I sat down on the floor and opened my phone.

The account the two of us managed together came up.

From the day I first came to Ashford three years ago, we'd agreed that each month we'd each deposit half our salary as a family fund for the future.

But the instant the page loaded, my whole body went rigid.

The balance read $0.00.

I put in $700 every month, without fail. He put in $850. Three years of that came to $216,000.

That was my blood and sweat, every bit of savings I'd scraped together living cheap in a strange city after quitting my job back home.

With trembling fingers, I tapped open the transaction history.

The transfer time on the screen: yesterday, 22:47.

I grabbed my phone at once and confronted Lance.

"Where's the money in our account?"

It was a long while before he answered.

"Melanie wants to open a flower shop here in Ashford, and she was short on cash, so I lent it to her."

"But don't worry, she'll pay you back with bank interest."

I stared at the cold words on the screen, and it felt like I couldn't breathe.

I thought of last winter, when I fell seriously ill right after making my deposit. The hospital wanted a $3,000 admission deposit, and I cried while I asked him if we could take a little out of the account for the emergency.

That day his face had gone cold, and he'd lectured me like it was scripture:

"Frances, spending money takes planning. That family fund is for emergencies. It doesn't get touched unless it's critical. You'll have to figure this out on your own."

And now he could take the money in that account, half of which was mine, and hand every cent of it to Melanie Cobb.

I drew in a breath and pushed down the sourness rising in my throat.

"Lance, we need to talk."

His reply came instantly:

"It's my lunch break. Whatever it is, it can wait until I'm home from work."

After that, no matter what I sent, he never answered a single message.

I stared at the black screen, turned, and knocked straight on Melanie Cobb's door.

If he wouldn't talk, then I'd go to Melanie.

The door opened. She looked at me, and something startled flickered in her eyes.

I fixed my gaze on her and spoke coldly:

"Give me back the money."

She folded her arms across her chest, contempt in her eyes.

"Lance gave it to me because he wanted to. What's that got to do with you?"

She lowered her voice, and it turned ugly.

"Frances, let me tell you a secret. That night, did you really believe a pipe burst in my apartment?"

My pupils shrank, my breath caught.

She watched the color drain from my face and only smiled brighter.

"It didn't. I knew exactly what the two of you were doing at that hour."

"Frances, I couldn't stand him touching you. That's why I knocked on purpose."

My head roared. The rage in my chest swallowed every last piece of reason and feeling in an instant.

I didn't even realize I'd moved.

The crack of it split through the stairwell all at once.

I had her hair fisted tight in my hand, and I screamed at her:

"Melanie, you make me sick, you know that?"

"Frances, you've lost your mind!"

Just then, fast footsteps came pounding up the stairwell.

Lance was back, and the second he saw the scene he didn't hesitate for a heartbeat. He rushed over and wrenched me off her.

The next moment his hand came up, and a hard slap landed across my face.

"Frances, who is this insanity for? Get out. Get out right now."

Then he took Melanie and turned to go back down the stairs without a backward glance.

I could give up the man. But the money had to come back to me.

I braced myself against the wall to get up and looked at him, all the hope gone out of me.

"Lance, give me back the money!"

He stopped. His back went rigid, and it was a long moment before he turned to look at me.

"Frances, take the money and then behave yourself. No more of these fits, scaring Melanie."

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it when I get back."

Expressionless, I put my phone away, turned, went back into the room, and left dragging my suitcase.

Lance, it's over between us.

And I won't be waiting for you anymore either.

……