The premarital checkup found breast cancer.

"Just get it removed. It's not like I'd hold it against you."

"Naomi went out of her way to request this surgery for you. She's been interning in oncology for a whole year—getting a chance to scrub in wasn't easy."

And just like that, whatever warmth I'd felt died.

So that was it. He'd been pushing the mastectomy so his childhood sweetheart could use me for practice.

I swallowed against the wreckage in my chest and shook my head again. "No… it's fine."

"But Naomi needs this surgery!"

The words I'd bitten back scraped raw against my throat. I stared at the man in front of me, unable to believe what I'd just heard.

Leonard seemed to realize how harsh that sounded. He softened his tone, reluctantly:

"Something's broken, you cut it off. And if it bothers you that much… get an implant later."

"Constance, just do as you're told. If you won't have the surgery, how are we supposed to get married?"

Then we don't.

He didn't know I'd already booked a flight overseas.

Someone I'd grown up with happened to be one of the world's top oncology experts.

——

When I didn't answer, Leonard caught my hand during a red light and tried again.

"Would I ever hurt you?"

"Naomi already walked me through the risks. If you don't get this surgery soon, it could be life-threatening."

"Who do you think all of this is for?"

The more he talked, the more frantic he looked.

I pulled my hand free, cold and sharp. "Leonard, stop treating me like an idiot."

"You know exactly who this is for."

The air inside the car dropped several degrees.

Leonard's jaw tightened. He turned and glared at me. "There you go again—throwing a jealous fit over Naomi, is that it?"

"I've told you a hundred times. There is nothing dirty between me and Naomi—that's all in your head!"

"If that's really how you think, then maybe this wedding isn't worth having."

Every single time I brought up Naomi, Leonard wielded the wedding like a threat.

Every single time it involved Naomi, I was the one overthinking, the one being petty.

"Fine. Then let's not."

The car braked hard and swerved to the curb.

Leonard hadn't expected me to call his bluff. Disbelief flickered through his eyes.

"Constance, don't act like you can't tell who's trying to help you."

"Do you have any idea how long Naomi fought the hospital to get assigned to your surgery? Do you have any idea how many trips I've made to that hospital for your sake?"

I let out a quiet, icy laugh. "How exhausting for the both of you."

"But I've said it. I'm not having this surgery."

"Family or doctor, either way, you're supposed to respect the patient's own wishes, aren't you?"

A full month had passed since the premarital exam came back with a cancer diagnosis.

In that month, Leonard had indeed been running back and forth to the hospital.

But not for my condition. He'd been picking up Naomi and driving her home.

Eight years together, and Leonard had never once picked me up from work. He didn't even know which direction my office entrance faced.

Naomi had been back for six months, and he was already a regular at the hospital.

"Constance, this isn't up to you."

"I've already got your admission arranged. And when the time comes, I'll sign the consent form myself—as your spouse."

"This surgery matters for you and for Naomi."

It didn't matter for me.

It mattered for Naomi.

Everyone knew that in the six months since her return, Naomi had botched one procedure after another and was on the verge of being let go.

She needed my surgery to save her reputation.

"I won't—"

A sharp ringtone cut me off. The screen lit up with the name *Naomi*, trailed by a little heart emoji.

Leonard's expression shifted, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face. "Naomi changed it. She's young. It's just a silly thing girls do."

Always the same excuse.

I stared at the custom sticker on the dashboard in front of the passenger seat—*Reserved for Nomi*—the words seared into my eyes like a brand.

Every single fight I'd ever picked over that sticker, and Leonard always came back with the same lines.

*She's young, she's immature—why are you acting just as childish?*

*Go ahead, rip it off. She'll stick a new one up. What's the point?*

*Would it kill you to just let her have this? It's a sticker. It's nothing.*

When it came to Naomi, I was always the one being ridiculous in Leonard's eyes—always the jealous girlfriend throwing a fit over nothing.

Six months of swallowed grievances, too many to count.

I rolled my eyes and didn't bother responding, just watched him pick up the phone.

"What's wrong, Nomi?"

Gone was every trace of the cold hostility he'd just shown me. The moment he spoke, his voice was gentle. Concerned.

I could hear muffled whimpering on the other end. Leonard sat up straight, tension pulling his shoulders tight.

"Okay. I'm coming right now."

He hung up and unlocked the doors.

"Naomi's apartment is flooding. I need to get over there."

"Take a cab home."

He spun the wheel and made a U-turn. "The surgery's settled. Quit with the act."

"Gone is gone. I mean, come on—what do you think tits are for? They're for men."

"*I* don't even mind you not having them. So what's your problem?"

Something detonated inside my skull.

Before I could get a word out, he'd already unbuckled my seatbelt and shoved me out of the car.

Dust kicked up behind the tires as he pulled away. I stood there on the roadside, unable to come back to myself for a long, long time.

Eight years. And maybe I was only now seeing who Leonard Delgado actually was.

Even the sky seemed to be in on it. I hadn't walked ten steps before the rain came down in sheets.

Leonard's car was still sitting at the red light up ahead. One second. Two. Three. The light changed, and the car shot forward without a moment's hesitation.

He kept saying he was worried about my illness. But one word from Naomi, and he could leave me standing sick in the rain without looking back.

He didn't even leave me an umbrella.

The walk home was endless.

I don't know how I made it back.

All I knew was that Leonard and I were truly over.

When I reached the door of our shared condo, it was slightly ajar. Through the gap came the sound of laughter. A man's voice and a woman's.

I pushed the door open. Leonard and Naomi both turned around at the same time.

Leonard said nothing. His gaze landed on me, dripping wet, and his brow creased.

Naomi let out a little gasp. "Oh, Connie, sweetie—what happened to you?"

"You absolutely cannot be getting rained on in your condition! If you come down with a fever, the surgery the day after tomorrow won't happen…"

So the surgery was the day after tomorrow.

Funny. My flight was the day after tomorrow too.

The moment he heard that, Leonard panicked.

He grabbed a bath towel and a hairdryer and rushed over, caught my arm, and shoved me down onto the couch.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I told you to take a cab!"

"If you ruin this surgery for Naomi, I'm telling you right now—this wedding is off."

The hairdryer roared. Every word out of his mouth drove into me like a needle.

It hurt.

My body didn't matter to him.

What mattered was Naomi's surgery.

In Leonard's eyes, my breast was Naomi's entry ticket—her one shot at keeping her place at Provincial General Hospital.

"Go take a shower. Don't catch a cold."

"These next few days, take care of yourself. No colds. No fevers."

He gave me another push.

Naomi smiled from the side of the room, chiming in helpfully with one pre-surgery reminder after another.

"Leo, I'm hungry…"

"I want your plum-glazed ribs."

Naomi's wheedling voice drifted from behind me, followed by the low, indulgent murmur of Leonard's reply.

My feet felt like they'd been filled with lead.

Eight years together—and I didn't know Leonard could cook until Naomi came back.

The day she returned to the country, Leonard brought her straight to our place.

I'd thoughtfully booked a restaurant ahead of time, but Naomi pouted, "I want to eat Leo's cooking"—and just like that, my reservation meant nothing. Leonard was already in the kitchen.

Eight dishes. Three hours.

The last one was the plum-glazed ribs.

"All those years abroad, your cooking is what I missed the most."

"Leo, you haven't forgotten your promise to me, have you?"

Leonard took off his apron and wiped his hands. "How could I forget the princess's wishes?"

"I've never cooked for anyone else. Ask Constance if you don't believe me. She didn't even know I could cook!"

They both laughed, and Leonard reached over to ruffle Naomi's hair.

At the table, I sat across from Naomi, wishing I could crawl into a hole and never come out.

They talked and laughed the whole evening. I couldn't have gotten a word in if I'd tried.

After my shower, the cloying sweetness of plum and braised pork hit me the moment I stepped out.

"Connie, come eat!"

Naomi was sitting next to Leonard, waving me over.

I glanced at their shoulders pressed together and managed a thin smile.

There was no place for me at that table.

"No, thanks."

"I'm not hungry."

I turned back toward the bedroom, only to find it filled with someone else's things.

"What is this?"

Leonard didn't even look up. "Oh, Naomi's place has a leak."

"She's staying here for a while."

"Once you've had your surgery and recovered, she'll move out."

The hand gripping my towel wouldn't stop shaking. When I spoke, the words came out cracked.

"Leonard, this is our shared condo."

Every word landed heavy and raw.

But Leonard didn't hear it.

He frowned at me, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. "We're not even married, are we?"

"So don't call it 'ours' like it means something."

"Constance, quit stirring up trouble over nothing."

Naomi didn't say a word, head down, eating quietly, but her shoulders were trembling with barely concealed laughter.

I said nothing. I gathered my things and moved to the guest room.

Just a few more days. I could endure a few more days.

My flight was the day after tomorrow. Once I was gone, let's see who Naomi could get to operate on her.

I'd barely sat down when my phone rang.

It was Aaron Whitney.

"My dear lady, please tell me you haven't forgotten your Monday flight."

His familiar, irreverent voice came through the speaker. I always told him I couldn't stand him, but right now that voice felt like a lifeline.

"I haven't."

"Aaron, what if my condition really is bad enough to need surgery?"

A pause on the other end. "Constance, don't be scared."

"I've looked at the scans you sent. It's not as frightening as you think. The equipment here is more advanced. You can get retested once you're here. What if it's a misdiagnosis?"

"And even if the diagnosis holds, there are many treatment options. Surgery isn't the only one."

For as long as I'd known him, Aaron had been the unreliable kid who never seemed to grow up.

But hearing that steady string of reassurances, it hit me that the boy in my memory had quietly grown up somewhere along the way.

His words eased something wound tight inside me.

Not long after I hung up, there was a knock at the door.

It was Naomi.

She was wearing my pajamas, eyes bright with open provocation.

"Connie, I'm wearing your pajamas. You don't mind, right?"