Eight Years to Zero

Lena, about signing the papers I don't think I can do it. Let's hold off for a while.

The phone clicked. Silence.

The man I had loved for eight years just delivered the kill shot.

The timing was almost comedic. Phone in my left hand. In my right, a plastic stick showing two solid pink lines.

Diagnosed with stomach cancer in the morning. Pregnant by noon. Dumped by dinner.

I didn't scream. I didn't shatter the glass against the wall.

"Okay."

Hayes thought I was being sensible. He thought I was being the "cool girl."

He didn't know the truth.

Dying women don't need wedding rings.

Chapter 1

Eight years. Thats how long Hayes and I have been a singular unit.

We built our company from a garage idea into a downtown office. We bought the car. We put the down payment on the new place. The renovation plans were sitting on the counter.

If my cells hadn't decided to mutate, next year would have involved a nursery painted soft yellow and a baby sleeping in my arms.

Hayes wasn't coming home for dinner. Again.

I stood over the stove, watching instant ramen boil, the steam dampening my eyelashes. I hesitated. How do I tell him? We had a plan. Sign the papers by Christmas.

Dr. Wallis had been clinical, but her eyes held pity. "Terminate the pregnancy, Lena. Aggressive chemotherapy is your only option. Youre young. Your odds are good. Don't be afraid."

I wasn't afraid. Not really.

I had Hayes. He was my anchor. He would navigate this storm with me.

The doorbell rang.

My brow furrowed. Hayes never rings. He has a key.

I pulled the door open.

Hayes was dead weight, leaning heavily against a shoulder that wasn't mine.

It was Hadley. The new hire. The fresh college grad we brought on last month.

"Lena! Hey." Hadley offered a breathless, apologetic smile. She was wearing a slip dress with a floral print that looked expensive but offered zero protection against the night chill. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks flushed a deep, suspicious crimson.

"Client dinner went late," she said, shifting Hayess weight. "The Boss had way too many shots. His car is downstairs. I just wanted to make sure he got inside safe. I'll Uber home."

Hayes mumbled something incoherent, stumbling past me to collapse face-first onto the sofa. Passed out cold.

I grabbed his suit jacket, peeling it off his shoulders.

The scent hit me instantly.

It wasn't whiskey. It was orange blossom.

Hadleys perfume. It was soaked into the fabric, clinging to him like a second skin.

"Thanks, Hadley." I forced my lips into a polite curve. "It's too late for an Uber. I'll drive you."

She tried to refuse, waving her hands, but I insisted. "I can't let you take a ride-share alone this late. I insist."

The car ride was quiet until Hadley turned in her seat. "So, Lena when are you guys actually getting married?"

The question hung in the air, sharp and probing.

I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. I thought of the phone call. The rejection.

"We're waiting for things to settle down at the company," I lied. My voice sounded hollow.

Waiting for my condition to stabilize.

"Oh" Hadley stared out the window, watching the streetlights blur. Then, she dipped her head, hiding a small, sweet smile. "I see. Makes sense."

I dropped her off and watched her disappear into her building.

I parked the car in our parking garage, the engine ticking as it cooled. I reached over to the glove compartment. I needed the hand lotion Id tossed in there last week. My hands felt dry. Everything felt dry.

I popped the latch.

Sitting right there, wedged between the manual and a stack of napkins, was a wrapper.

Small. Square. Silver.

Torn open.

I froze. My breath hitched in my throat.

I reached out, my fingers trembling, and touched it. A slick, oily residue coated the inside of the wrapper. It transferred to my skin. Cold. Viscous.

The image of Hadleys slip dress flashed in my mind.

The flushed skin. The messy hair.

The "client dinner."

Hayess averted eyes when he told me he didn't want to marry me.

I sat there in the dark garage, the oily substance on my thumb burning like acid.

One day.

Diagnosis. Pregnancy. Betrayal.

The sheer volume of trauma paralyzed me. I couldn't move. I couldn't think. I just sat there, staring at the empty wrapper, while my world quietly imploded.

Chapter 2

Hayes and I started dating freshman year. He chased me. Relentlessly.

Back then, I was bussing tables at Darlenes Diner near campus to cover my rent. Hayes fell in love at first sight.

To get my attention, Hayesa legitimate trust-fund baby who grew up on organic kale and Wagyu beefate at that greasy spoon every single day for a year. The day I finally agreed to be his girlfriend, his stomach rebelled. He projectile vomited right in the middle of the diner.

To this day, the smell of beef soup turns him green.

He knew I had pride. He knew I wouldn't take his money. So, he ditched his fraternity brothers to eat dining hall slop with me. Hed buy fruit cups and milk cartons, shoving them onto my tray with a scowl.

"If my future wife gets malnutrition, thats on me. Eat."

He knew I hated the smell of cigarette smoke. He quit cold turkey. One time, the cravings hit him hard during a poker game. Under the shocked stares of his party-boy friends, Hayes unwrapped a lollipop and stuck it in his mouth.

His face turned red, but he doubled down. "F*ck off. You guys wouldn't understand. This is what a family man does."

I never really understood what Hayes saw in me.

Hes six-two, with a jawline that could cut glass and a bank account that could buy the university. But Hayes didnt care about logic. He always said, "I like what I f*cking like."

Hes stubborn. The kind of guy who picks a lane and drives until the wheels fall off.

I saw the extent of that stubbornness the first Thanksgiving he took me home.

I stood in the foyer of his parents' estate, clutching a bottle of wine, feeling like an intruder. Hayess parents were polite. The kind of icy, detached polite that freezes you out faster than an insult.

When the staff started clearing the dinner plates, his motherCatherinecleared her throat. She shot Hayes a look. A command. Kitchen. Now.

They left me alone in the living room.

The crystal chandelier overhead was blinding. It was brighter than the August sun, unforgiving in how it illuminated every flaw. It spotlighted my thrifted puffer coat. It highlighted the fading denim of my jeans.

That was the best outfit I owned.

I sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, knees pressed together, trying to occupy as little space as possible. The staff drifted by. Their gazes lingered on my scuffed boots. I heard a stifle of laughter.

It felt like a razor blade sliding across my skin. Peeling back my dignity layer by layer.

Then, Catherines voice shattered the silence from the other room. She was screaming. "She knows you have money, Hayes! Look at her! She has no family, no connections. Shes an orphan. What can she possibly offer you?"

My chest seized.

It felt like a steel-toed boot had just kicked me in the ribs. I couldn't breathe.

I bowed my head, staring at the marble floor. I pinched the soft flesh of my inner arm, digging my nails in hard.

Pain is grounding.

Don't cry. Do not let them see you cry.

The door slammed. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

Hayes stormed out, his face thunderous. He marched straight to the sofa, grabbed my hand, and yanked me up. "Were leaving."

"Hayes!" Catherines voice trailed him, shrill and venomous. "If you walk out that door, don't call me 'Mom' again! We will cut you off! Not a single cent!"

Hayes stopped. His hand tightened around mine. He turned around. He didn't look at his mother. He walked back to the side table and grabbed the bottle of wine I had brought.

"You don't deserve this," he spat.

He grabbed my hand again and dragged me out into the cold night.

Chapter 3

It was Thanksgiving night. The streets were dead.

The city had shut down, leaving us stranded. We had to walk to a hotel. We crossed the overpass, the winter wind screaming through my hair.

Below us, the city was a sprawling sea of electric stars. Millions of lights. Millions of homes.

But not a single one of them belonged to me.

I didn't turn around. I kept my eyes on the asphalt, my voice barely a whisper against the gale. "Hayes. Let's break up."

Silence.

"Hayes, we"

He didn't speak. He unzipped his down jacket and engulfed me from behind.

He wrapped the coat around both of us, trapping my body against his. His grip was iron-tight. Desperate. Like if he loosened his hold by a millimeter, I would dissolve into the night air.

We stood there, frozen. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his breathing ragged against my skin.

Time stretched.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was soft, but it carried the weight of an oath. "Lena. I will give you a home."

Back in the present, the living room was quiet.

Hayes was asleep on the sofa, one arm dangling off the side. I draped a blanket over him, tucking the edges in.

His phone, resting on the coffee table, lit up.

Two unread messages.

From Hadley.

She got me home safe! Don't worry, Boss!

Followed by a sticker. A cartoon girl winking and blowing a kiss. Goodnight.

I knew I shouldn't.

Privacy is a boundary. But my gut was screaming, a high-pitched alarm in the back of my skull.

I unlocked the phone. I scrolled up.

Hadley: What's for lunch today, Mr. Hayes? The packed lunch she made again?

Hayes: Yeah.

Hadley: Lame. Come on, Boss. Slum it with us single people and order takeout for once.

Hayes: Tomorrow.

The timestamp was from two days ago.

I stared at the screen. My blood ran cold.

I remembered that day. Hayes had hugged me from behind, kissing my neck, his voice tender. Don't wake up early to cook, babe. Take a day off. I don't want you working too hard.

I thought he was being sweet.

He just wanted to eat takeout with her.

I kept scrolling.

Hadley: So, Boss when are you guys actually getting married?

She included a meme of a crying child.

Usually, Hayes replies instantly.

For this one, there was a ten-minute gap.

Hayes: I don't know.

He didn't know.

My fingers went numb. I set the phone back on the table, exactly where it had been.

I didn't need to see anymore.

There was no sexting. No nudes. No "I love yous."

But the way he spoke to her the way he referred to me as "She"

In their world, I was the outsider. I was the obstacle.

I walked into the study, my legs feeling like lead. I opened the bottom drawer. I placed the oncology report and the pregnancy test inside, right on top of our joint bank statements.

Outside, the weather had turned. A humid, heavy wind blew through the window, carrying the scent of rain.

I shut the door.

I sat at the desk, staring at the wood grain.

When the doctor handed me that report earlier today, I told myself I wasn't scared.

That was a lie.

I had sat on the hospital steps, watching the traffic blur into streaks of color, thinking. I had spent hours rehearsing. How could I tell him casually? How could I break the news so it wouldn't destroy him?

I was so worried about breaking his heart.

I didn't realize he had already stopped caring about mine.

Chapter 4

I had a script prepared.

I was going to smile. "Hayes, I have good news and bad news. Which one do you want first?"

If he picked the good news, Id tell him he was going to be a father. If he picked the bad news, Id tell him I was joking about the bad news.

He would have flicked my forehead, called me an idiot, and pulled me into a hug. Then, safe in his arms, I would have dropped the bomb about the cancer.

He would have held me tight, just like he always did. He would have told me not to be afraid. I would have laughed at his panic, wiped his tears, and lied that I wasn't scared at all.

Or maybe I would have just crashed.

Maybe I would have sobbed through the truth. Im terrified. Im scared of the pain. Im scared of the chemo making my hair fall out. I wont look pretty in dresses anymore. I cant tie a ponytail.

I would have told him how much I wanted to keep this baby.

I would have told him about the Lego wall I planned for the nursery in the new house. He used to say wed have a daughter. Hed build castles with her. Hed buy her endless dresses.

He would have whispered the cheesiest lines, swearing I was the most beautiful woman in the world, hair or no hair.

But before I could decide which script to use, the phone rang.

Let's wait on the marriage license.

I agreed without a millisecond of hesitation.

He loved me so much. He gave up his inheritance for me. How could I drag him down into the grave with me?

In that moment, a dark thought crossed my mind: I wish he didn't love me anymore. Then he wouldn't be sad when I die.

Maybe a cruel god was passing by, heard my wish, and decided to grant it.

He really didn't love me like that anymore.

I want to live. God, I want to live. But I don't know if staying alive hurts more than the chemo.

I sat in the study all night, the window open, letting the wind numb my skin.

Hayes woke up at 7:00 AM.

He walked in, rubbing his temples. He was dressed in suit pants and a crisp light-blue shirt. Broad shoulders. Tapered waist.

Im not usually superficial, but the sight of him still made my pulse jump. A reflex I couldn't kill.

He paused when he saw me sitting there. "What's wrong?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. I'm going to take a leave of absence from the company."

Hayes smiled. He reached out to ruffle my hairan old habit. "Quit if you want. It's not like I can't support you."

I leaned away.

His hand hovered in empty space.

The air between us curdled. He pulled his hand back, awkwardness flashing across his face. "Why the leave?"

"I'm just tired."

If you count the hustle, Ive been working for nine years straight. I earned the right to be tired.

I worked through college. When we graduated, I was the one supporting Hayes. He had cut ties with his family to start the business with his "bros." We lived in a rental the size of a shoebox. We were bleeding money.

To save a hundred bucks on rent, I took the apartment with the longer commute. Up at 5:45 AM. An extra hour on the subway. Overtime until 9:00 PM. Home by 11:00 PM. I would collapse onto the mattress and pass out in seconds.

We had no money. We had no time.

At our lowest point, we went a full week without saying more than two words to each other.

But no matter how late it got, he always came home.

Chapter 5

I remembered the time he forgot his keys.

I woke up at 3:00 AM, the other side of the bed cold. I checked my phone. No texts. When I opened the front door, I found him curled up on the welcome mat, shivering in his sleep. He hadn't knocked. He didn't want to wake me.

That was Hayes. Or at least, that was the Hayes I knew during our first winter, when we were dead broke.

My startup had missed payroll for two months. We were running on fumes.

I remember Hayes picking me up from the subway station. We walked past a new Steakhouse downtown. The smell of charred oak and searing beef was aggressive. It wafted out into the freezing street, hooking into our empty stomachs. The line wrapped around the block.

Hayes squeezed my hand, his breath clouding in the air. "When we make it, Lena, this is the first place we hit. Were getting the dry-aged Ribeye. And ten orders of truffle fries."

"Why ten?"

"Five to eat. Five to stare at," he said, dead serious.

"Gross. Im not eating with someone who orders fries just to look at them."

"Youre one to talk. Youre the savage who puts ketchup on a 50-dollar steak. I bet you put pineapples on pizza, too."

"Don't you dare start the pineapple debate"

He started laughing so hard he choked on his own spit. He was coughing, hacking, and I was pounding on his back. We locked eyes. And then I started laughing.

We stood there on the sidewalk, broke and hungry, laughing until we couldn't breathe. Passersby stared at us like we were high.

Maybe we were. High on hope.

We have money now. But that steakhouse closed two years ago. We never got to eat there.

Nostalgia is a trap. Once you open the door, it floods in.

My vision blurred. A hot tear tracked down my cheek.

"Hey." Hayess voice shifted, panic seeping in. He brushed the tear away with his thumb. "Why are you crying? Talk to me."

"It's nothing," I managed, leaning my head against his chest. "I just don't want to work anymore. I'm burnt out."

"Then don't." He crouched down, forcing me to look him in the eye. "Quit. Seriously. I can support you. Be a lady of leisure."

His eyes were soft. Liquid warm.

Eight years later, the impulsive frat boy was gone. In his place was a man who looked expensive, capable, and safe.

I knew I shouldn't, but my heart betrayed me. It still wanted him.

I hesitated. Then, I reached out, gripping the fabric of his dress shirt. "Hayes can you stay with me today?"

The Bargain: If he stays, I tell him the truth.

If he stays, I fight for us. Cancer, the baby, the affairwe put it all on the table.

Eight years deserves a conversation. Eight years deserves an ending, or a new beginning.

Hayes froze.

"Babe, I have a massive meeting this morning. Board members." He checked his watch. "But I'll leave early. I promise. You go back to sleep. Binge that show you like. Read a book."

My hand dropped from his shirt.

"Okay."

He tucked the duvet around me, sealing me in. He kissed my forehead. "Be good. Go to sleep. I'll do the dishes for the entire month, deal? Your birthday is coming up think of what you want. I'll get you anything."

I nodded.

He smiled, relieved.

I watched him walk out. The bedroom door clicked shut. Then the front door.

Silence rushed back in to fill the space he left.

I was alone.

Chapter 6

"I consent."

The pen scratched against the paper. I signed my name, the ink bleeding slightly into the fiber. I pushed the Organ Donation Registration form across the desk.

Dr. Wallis picked it up. She was young, pale, with eyes that hadn't yet hardened against the daily tragedy of her job. She looked at the signature, then at me.

"Do you have family consent?" she asked, her voice professional but soft. "If your next of kin objects later, they can dispute this. It gets messy."

"I don't have family." I offered a dry, thin smile. "Take it all. Whatever is useful. Don't let it go to waste."

At least if Im a donor, someone might visit my grave once a year.

Dr. Wallis flinched. A flicker of apology crossed her face. She smoothed the paper, looking down. "You don't have to be so Lena, your mental state impacts your immune system. You need to stay positive."

She hesitated, shifting in her chair. "Regarding the pregnancy Chemotherapy and targeted radiation are highly toxic. The fetus won't survive the toxicity. I strongly advise"

"I know."

I had scoured the internet. WebMD. Reddit cancer threads.

If it were Stage 1, maybe. Maybe I could delay treatment. Maybe we could both live.

But this? This was a demolition job.

If I had family hereif Hayes was heremaybe the doctor would play along. They would sing a duet of "Everything will be fine" and "You're a fighter."

I read a post once that said the placebo effect is real. That if you lie to a patient effectively enough, the body sometimes fights back.

But there was no one here to lie to me.

"Seven weeks," I whispered. "How big is it?"

"It has a heartbeat," Dr. Wallis said gently.

"A heart it's actually beating?"

"Yes." Dr. Wallis smiled, a genuine, warm expression cracking through her clinical mask. She must love children.

"That's nice."

I did the math in my head. If everything went right, the baby would come in May. A spring baby.

If.

Dr. Wallis saw the look in my eyes. She ripped a page off a notepad and scribbled a number. "This is my personal cell. Text me. Call me. If anything feels wrong, you reach out. Okay?"

"Thanks, Dr. Wallis."

The bus ride home was a nightmare.

It was rush hour. Bodies packed together like sardines, the air thick with the smell of sweat and damp raincoats. I sat near the front, phone in hand, typing a message to Dr. Wallis.

Hi Dr. Wallis. I read online that nausea is common for both pregnancy and end-stage cancer. I can't tell which one this is. How do I know the difference?

Before I could hit send, a hand shoved my shoulder. Hard.

"Excuse me, Miss."

I looked up. A middle-aged woman with a 'Can I speak to the manager' haircut was looming over me. Beside her stood an elderly man, gripping the handrail.

"This is Priority Seating," she snapped, pointing to the sign. "Elderly, disabled, pregnant. You need to get up and let this gentleman sit."

"She's young and strong," another passenger chimed in from the back. "She can stand for a few stops."

The bus murmured in agreement. A chorus of judgment.

I looked at the old man. I looked at the woman.

I didn't feel angry. I didn't feel ashamed.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the oncology file. I didn't open it. I just held it on my lap like a shield.

I looked the woman dead in the eye and smiled.

"I'm pregnant. And I have Stage 4 stomach cancer. Im dying. Do you mind if I keep the seat?"

The silence was instantaneous.

It spread from the front of the bus to the back like a shockwave. The air was sucked out of the vehicle. You could hear the tires humming against the asphalt.

The womans mouth opened, but no sound came out. She turned a shade of pale usually reserved for corpses. The collective conscience of the entire bus just imploded.

I turned back to my phone and hit send.

For the first time all day, I felt light.

I was dying. What the hell did I have left to be afraid of?

Chapter 7

"I want to go to that Steakhouse."

The restaurant was dim, smelling of seared beef and expensive red wine.

Hayes cut a slice of the ribeye steak. He checked the center. Perfectly pink. Precision cutting. He forked the piece and placed it gently onto my plate.

I took a small bite. It was seared perfectly. Tender. Juicy.

But my throat seized.

For the last two days, swallowing had become a physical battle. The muscles just refused to cooperate.

The warning shots started six months ago. A gnawing ache in the pit of my stomach. Nausea that hit in waves.

I blew it off.

I blamed the hustle. Skipped breakfast. Late dinners. Too much coffee. I told myself it was the price of ambition.

My body had been screaming at me for months. I just put it on mute.

I pretended to wipe my mouth with a napkin, discreetly spitting the chewed beef into the paper. I balled it up, hiding the evidence. "I think I'll stick to the mashed potatoes," I whispered.

Hayes opened his mouth, ready to tease me about wasting a good steaka callback to our college days.

Then, his phone lit up on the table.

His eyes flicked down. His fingers moved across the screen, firing off a rapid reply. And there it was. A smile.

It was faint, reflex-like. He didn't even know he was doing it.

I rested my chin in my hand, watching him.

The question rotted in my gut: Why me?

Why do I have to die? Why do the people who hurt others get to live until they're gray and wrinkled?

The birthday song started playing.

The waiters descended on our table like a overly-caffeinated SWAT team, pushing a cart with a fruit cake and a flashing LED sign. They clapped. They sang. The whole restaurant turned to watch.

Hayes put his phone down. He lit the candle. "Make a wish, Lena."

I looked at the flame. I closed my eyes.

Hayes, I hope you live a long, healthy life.

I blew it out.

"Do you like the gift? I actually did my research this time," Hayes said, looking proud of himself.

He handed me a box. Inside lay a hand-carved sandalwood comb. Smooth, cool to the touch, expensive. "It's for your hair," he said. "Supposed to be good for the scalp."

I ran my thumb over the teeth of the comb.

My hair. The hair that chemo was going to strip from my head in handfuls.

"I love it," I lied, forcing a smile. "Hayes, after we eat can we go see the new house?"

"Sure. Birthday girl calls the shots."

We got into the car. Hayes leaned over to buckle my seatbelt. His knuckles brushed my upper arm. He frowned. His hand lingered, squeezing my arm.

"Jesus, Lena. You're skin and bones. Are you dieting? You know I don't care if you gain weight."

"Just no appetite lately."

Thats the thing about Hayes. He loves me, but hes blind.

Its been two months.

Two months since I last had my period. Two months where I haven't curled up in bed with cramps. Two months where I haven't banned him from the bedroom because I was bleeding.

He never noticed.

But my mind flashed back to the chat log I saw on his phone.

Hadley: Boss man, my tummy hurts. :(

Hayes: What's wrong?

Hadley: Ugh, girl problems. Can't explain it to a guy!

She sent a sticker of a cat rolling on the floor in pain.

Hayes immediately approved two days of paid sick leave.

Hadley: Love you! <3

Hayes hadn't replied to that last part. But he gave her the time off.

He tracked her cycle. He forgot mine.

I cracked the window. The night wind rushed in, smelling of camphor trees and rain. Outside, the neon city blurred into streaks of light.

Technically, I told myself, the evidence is thin. He hasn't slept with her. He hasn't kissed her.

Maybe I'm just paranoid. Maybe I'm just dying and looking for a reason to let go.

Chapter 8

I saw right through Hadley.

The clumsy text messages. The lingering scent on the jacket. The "accidental" condom wrapper.

It was classic "Pick Me" behavior. Calculated innocence. Weaponized incompetence.

Maybe she planted the wrapper. Maybe delaying the marriage license wasn't directly her idea.

Hayes might not be sleeping with her. Not yet.

But his foundation was cracking.

Love is binary. Its a yes or a no. The moment you hesitate, the moment you need to "think about it," the love is already decaying.

If Hayes had hesitated for even a second that Thanksgiving night eight years ago, I wouldn't have walked out into the snow with him.

If you wobble, the fall is inevitable.

We hit the lobby. It was rush hour for the buildingdog walkers, delivery guys, neighbors coming home.

A blur of motion slammed into my thighs.

Impact.

My hands flew to my stomach. Pure, biological instinct. Protecting the life that was already doomed.

"Crew! Get your ass back here!"

A voice like a foghorn cut through the lobby. Mrs. Klein, the neighbor from 4B, marched over. She was a thickset woman with a perm that defied gravity and an attitude that terrified the local HOA. She grabbed the kidCrewby the backpack strap.

"Jesus, kid. Look at her! She's tiny. You could've snapped her in half like a twig." Mrs. Klein glared at her son. "You hurt a pregnant lady or an old person, the cops come and take you downtown. You want that?"

Crew wilted. He stared at his sneakers. "Sorry."

"It's okay." I crouched down, forcing a smile, though my heart was still hammering against my ribs. "I'm fine. No harm done."

Mrs. Klein smoothed her sweater. "You guys moving into the penthouse unit? The one that's been under construction forever?"

"Yeah," I said. "Just checking out the progress."

"So, the wedding is coming up soon then?"

The question hung in the air.

I froze. I looked up at Hayes.

He didn't answer. He didn't say "Yes, next month." He didn't say "We're excited."

He just stared at the elevator floor indicator.

Ding.

The doors slid open. Saved by the bell.

The apartment was a concrete shell.

Exposed ductwork. Gray floors. Dust motes dancing in the beams of the streetlights. We bought it for the light.

I walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and cranked one open. The night air rushed in, filling the dead space with the sounds of the city. Directly across the street was a brightly painted building. The preschool.

I grabbed Hayess hand. His skin was warm. I pointed out the window. "Remember?" I asked. "When we put the deposit down? You said having the school right there would make it easy when the principal calls."

Hayes stared out at the dark playground.

"I said we'd play Rock-Paper-Scissors," I whispered. "Loser has to go get yelled at by the principal."

A smile ghosted across his lips. The tension in his shoulders dropped. "I remember," he said softly. "And you argued with me. You said we wouldn't get yelled at."

"What else did I say?"

"You said our kid would be a genius. You said we'd only be going there to accept awards and give speeches on 'Exemplary Parenting.'"

He turned away from the window, looking around the empty, shadowy room.

"We were going to put the partition there," he pointed to the master bedroom. "Dual gaming rigs. Even though I haven't touched a controller since sophomore year. You said you didn't want me to lose my 'boyish charm.'"

He walked to the living room wall. "And here the ventilation system. Heavy duty. So we could sear steaks at home without the couch smelling like grease for a week."

He placed his hand on the bare drywall.

"And this was the Lego wall," he murmured. "Floor to ceiling. For the daughter we were going to have. So I could build castles for her."

I stood in the shadows, watching him unlock the vault of our memories.

He remembered.

He remembered every promise. Every dream. Every detail of the life we were supposed to build.

He remembered how to love me. He just didn't want to do it anymore.

Chapter 9

When exactly did his grip loosen?

I looked at him. The bespoke suit, the Rolex, the calm aura of a man who owns the room.

I tried to superimpose the image of the desperate, reckless boy who ran through the snow with me eight years ago. The edges didn't line up anymore. The picture was distorted.

I didn't want to cry. I hate crying.

But my body betrayed me. A hot, silent stream of tears spilled over, tracking cold paths down my cheeks.

Hayes froze. The confident CEO facade cracked. He wiped my face with his thumb, his movements frantic. "Hey, hey. Why are you crying again? Stop overthinking things."

I buried my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of his expensive cologne. It used to smell like home. Now it smelled like a boardroom.

"Hayes," I muffled against his shirt. "I want to go back. I miss how it used to be."

He let out a short, incredulous laugh. "The past? You mean when we were starving? When we were splitting instant noodles and getting yelled at by landlords? What was good about that? Look at us now. You want steak? We buy the restaurant. You want a vacation? We take a month off. This is the dream, Lena."

Right. We were hungry. We were tired.

So why does that version of us feel more alive than this one?

"I think I'm getting worse," I whispered. "But it doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would."

He didn't hear the last part. He was already patting my back, murmuring soothing, empty words.

Dr. Wallis hadn't texted back.

I was in the bathroom, gripping the porcelain rim. My body convulsed. A violent heave.

Red.

Bright, oxygenated red splattered against the white ceramic.

I hit the flush.

Whoosh.

The water swirled, taking the bloodand the feardown the pipes. Gone. Clean.

If only I could flush the last eight years that easily.

I rinsed my mouth. The metallic taste of copper and bile lingered on my tongue. I walked back to the bedroom and picked up my phone. I opened my banking app.

Eight years of savings. Every cent earned through sweat, ulcers, and sleepless nights.

I wasn't going to let them spend it on nursery furniture.

Donate it all.

I closed the app and opened my contacts. I scrolled to Roxy - HR.

Roxy. The girl I hired when no one else would. She was twenty-five, sharp as a tack, but had a resume gap. Other companies rejected her, assuming a woman her age was a "maternity leave risk."

I hired her because I saw myself in her hunger.

Roxy is a firecracker. She has zero filter and a moral compass that points true north.

I sent her the files.

1. The photo of the condom wrapper wedged in the passenger seat.

2. The screenshots of the texts between Hayes and Hadley.

Lena: Roxy, I need you to process a termination. Immediate effect. Hadley.

Lena: And I need you to do me a favor. Accidental reply-all. Make sure people know why.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

Maybe I'm petty. Maybe I'm shallow.

I'm dying. I have an expiration date stamped on my forehead.

Why should I take the high road? Why should I let them have a clean slate?

Karma is taking too long. I'm expediting the shipment.

Roxy replied in seconds.

Roxy: HOLY SH*T.

Roxy: Do you want me to blur the Boss's name/number in the screenshots?

Lena: No.

It takes two to tango. He doesn't get a pass.

Roxy: Say less. Consider it done. And Lena? If you leave him, take me with you. I can't work for a man who fumbles a queen for a pawn.

I smiled.

See? Women know. We tolerate a lot, but we don't tolerate betrayal. And we definitely don't tolerate "Pick Me" girls.

It wasn't just me being sensitive. It was objective facts.

I checked the time.

The email would go out. The whispers would start. Hayes would find out in about thirty minutes. He would panic. He would call. Then he would drive home to "explain."

That gave me seventy minutes, tops.

I grabbed a canvas tote bag.

I didn't pack clothes. I didn't pack jewelry.

8Driver's license.

Phone.

Cash.

The Organ Donation Registration Form.

I slung the bag over my shoulder.

I took one last look at the empty apartment that was supposed to be our forever home.

Time to go.

Chapter 10