We were just about to get our marriage license.

But then Priscilla showed up in Paris, desperately trying to win Kason back. Each time, Kason made it clear he only had feelings for me. Yet when it came time to sign the papers, he abandoned me because of her.

This has happened four times already, and today is the fifth. Maybe he feels guilty, I guess. This time, he bought me a house and put it in my name. He even purchased a fancy pink diamond ring. If he didn’t love me, why would he do these things? Yet, if he loved me, how could he keep leaving me for an ex?

I tightened my coat around me and called Kason. The phone rang several times before it was picked up, but it wasn’t Kason on the line—it was Priscilla. Her voice had that typical Southern Belle softness.

“Makayla, Kason went to get me some soup. Is there something important? I can pass the message along.”

It was absurd. The way she spoke made it sound like she was Kason's girlfriend. But they broke up a long time ago. Kason is now my boyfriend—almost my husband.

Before I could respond, I heard Kason’s voice.

“Next time, don’t run out in the middle of winter to have fun. This is Paris, not your mild southern town. You’ll freeze to death in the snow!”

His tone was filled with warmth, something he had never used with me.

I remember the last time it snowed, and I wanted him to warm my hands. He said to me, “You’re not like Priscilla, who’s so delicate about the cold. Besides, we've been together long enough; stop with that nonsense, it's embarrassing.”

Growing up with him in Paris, I’d brushed off his words, my carefree nature unbothered. I truly thought he disliked such interactions. Now, I realize he doesn’t.

“Kason, I want to talk to you.”

I clenched my phone, struggling to keep my emotions under control.

“Hello, what’s up?” Kason's tone shifted to something more serious as he took over the call.

The hurt welled up in my eyes, tears barely held at bay. I wanted so badly to ask, do you even care about me? But saying that would make me seem needy to him.

After a moment of silence, I said, “Maybe we should call off the remarriage. It looks like you and Priscilla have unresolved issues.”

“Makayla!” he snapped, anger flaring.

“You're blowing up over today?” he retorted. “What’s more important, someone’s well-being or our remarriage? You’re thirty years old and still don’t get it?”

“Forget it. Talking to you is pointless. You always think about yourself!”

The phone disconnected with a sharp click.

I stood frozen as snowflakes landed on my face, feeling numb. He always thought I was too stubborn. But this was the fifth time, the fifth time! How could anyone endure this?

I wanted to call him again, to have a straightforward conversation. But this time, he didn't answer at all. He didn't respond to my WhatsApp messages either. I crouched down on the ground, tears stinging my eyes as they began to fall steadily. I remember when I wasn't like this. How did I become so fragile, so quick to cry?

I went to my friend Lia's house and poured out everything that had happened today, then had a few glasses of whiskey. We watched the heavy snow outside the window, and she just held me in silence. Then I started crying again, and she quickly wiped away my tears.

"Makayla, you weren't like this before," she said. "The Makayla I know handles things decisively and with a free spirit. If this relationship is truly making you unhappy, I hope you can be like you used to be and cut ties cleanly."

Lia's words left me speechless. The old me really did handle things without hesitation. Back when Kason wanted to move south, I wanted to stay in the north. Another woman might have followed him, but in my twenties, I was ambitious, believing that nothing should stand in the way of my life—especially not a man. So, I divorced him.

Now, why have I become like this? Is it just aging, longing for a place to belong?

That night, I drank way too much.

Kason was all I could think about, and I felt the urge to call or message him on WhatsApp. But then, I scrolled through my Facebook feed and saw a post from him. It was a picture of Priscilla in a hospital bed, making a goofy face. His caption read: "Adorable."

Adorable, my foot!

Suddenly, I was completely sober. What on earth had I been in love with?

In a fit of rage, I sent Kason a stream of voice messages, calling him a heartless jerk and telling him I wanted to break up.

And then, I passed out.

When I woke up, I found myself in Kason's arms, just as he was stepping out of Olivia's place.

I immediately tried to wriggle free, but he said, "Hold still. Olivia said you had too much to drink last night, and I don't want you suffering the aftereffects."

He carefully eased me into the car and then apologized, "Yesterday was my fault."

"I was just anxious because Priscilla doesn't know anyone else in the city."

"That's why I said those harsh words to you."

"I've planned a surprise for you. Can you forgive me?"

"But you said she was adorable."

"She posted that herself. I've already taken it down."

Then he took my hand.

"Makayla, you have to believe me. You're the only one in my heart. I came back to Richmond just for you."

Though Kason grew up in the north, he has a charming way with words and the politeness of a southern gentleman. It's no wonder so many girls have been drawn to him.

But he only fell for this tomboy—me.

He put a lot of effort into winning me over.

If not for our past disagreements, we might have had a kid by now.

Suddenly, I remembered my grandmother's words.

She was ill, and her last wish was to see me settle down with someone good.

She said, "Makayla, you’re not getting any younger. When I'm gone, what will you do alone? I can't rest easy thinking about it."

Snapping back to reality, I wiped away my tears.

"Alright then, let's see this surprise you've planned."