In my five-year marriage to Julian Thorne, he stood me up 47 times for his "sister," Chloe Fischer.

This time, after he ditched me again for Chloe, I found two first-class tickets to Napa Valley in his study.

"I was going to surprise you for our anniversary. Since you've already seen them, let's just meet at the airport," he said, his voice detached.

Foolishly hopeful, I packed my bags and rushed to JFK Airport. I waited from afternoon until late at night. A blizzard hit, flights were canceled, but Julian never showed up.

Then, I saw Chloe's Instagram Story. "Tonight's charity gala was a last-minute thing, but so sweet of him to rush over and support me!"

In the past, I would have been heartbroken, demanding an explanation. But this time, as I watched him tenderly drape his coat over Chloe, something inside me finally snapped. I was done.

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1

The airport was bone-chilling on the night of the blizzard, the wind howling outside the vast windows.

Chloe's Instagram Story extinguished the last embers of hope in me. I gripped my phone, fighting the urge to hurl it against the wall.

This was the 47th time Julian had stood me up for her.

An uncontrollable tremor wracked my body as the last, ridiculous shred of hope I’d clung to finally shattered.

Just a week ago, he’d publicly walked out on me at an important industry dinner, leaving me to face a room full of prying eyes alone—all because Chloe had gotten locked out of her apartment.

Since the dinner was on Long Island, my best friend from college, Sloane, had to drive all the way across the city just to pick me up.

I gave Julian the cold shoulder for days after that, right up until I found those two tickets to Napa Valley in his study.

When I discovered them, he had said flatly, "I was going to surprise you for our anniversary. Since you've already seen them, let's just meet at the airport."

I knew he was just trying to buy my forgiveness. Every time he broke a promise to me for Chloe, he’d use an expensive gift to smooth things over. And like a fool, I always fell for it, so easily swayed and quick to forgive.

But this time, all I felt was a bone-deep exhaustion.

Outside, the blizzard raged, the bitter cold making my teeth chatter. The terminal was nearly empty. After adding a ridiculously large tip on the ride-sharing app, I finally managed to get a car at two in the morning.

…

When I returned to our Manhattan apartment and switched on the lights, I was startled to find Julian sitting silently in the darkness of the living room.

He crossed his arms, his tone hostile as he demanded, "Where the hell have you been? What are you doing out this late?"

I was in no mood to answer, simply dragging my suitcase toward the stairs. After a full day at the airport, I was completely drained.

My silence infuriated him. He seized my wrist. "Answer me!"

I glanced down at the hand clamped around my wrist, a hollow ache spreading through me. "Where do you think I could have been, Julian, carrying a suitcase?" I retorted, gesturing toward the case.

But he had clearly forgotten all about our travel plans. He kicked my suitcase aside.

"Feeling bold now? Pulling a disappearing act? Do you even see me as your husband? You don't just leave without a word!"

I let out a cold laugh at the sheer hypocrisy.

"Mr. Thorne must be incredibly busy. You forgot you were supposed to be on a flight to Napa Valley today, didn't you? But then again, how could you possibly remember me when you were busy escorting your precious sister to a charity gala?"

A flash of guilt crossed Julian's face, but it was quickly replaced by annoyance.

"You know how busy I am. Besides, Chloe was one of the organizers for that gala; she needed her family's support. Is that too much to ask?"

I was sick of the same old excuses. Just because they grew up together, just because Chloe was adopted by his family, Julian would always drop everything for her. Her needs always came first.

And now, because of her gala, he had left me stranded at the airport all night without a single word. It was absurd.

Julian's grip was tight. I gave a token struggle against his grip before my voice went calm. "Alright. I was wrong. I'm sorry."

In the past, I would have argued endlessly. But now? Nothing. I just wanted this to be over so I could go upstairs and sleep.

Julian’s eyes narrowed in confusion. He scrutinized me for a long moment, as if searching for something, before letting out a sigh of relief.

"Good, as long as you understand. I'll take you to the spa resort in the Berkshires tomorrow to make it up to you."

With that, he brushed past me and headed upstairs.

I gave a noncommittal hum and took out my phone to text Sloane.

"Initiate Plan B."

If I wasn't mistaken, on the way to the resort tomorrow, Julian would be called away by some new crisis involving Chloe. Once we were divorced, whatever he did for her would no longer be my problem.

I finished unpacking, took a shower, and returned to the bedroom.

Julian was still awake, sitting up in bed. He glanced at me and shifted, making room for me to sit behind him.

Silently, out of habit, I moved onto the bed and began to massage his shoulders.

After a moment, he turned, his expression displeased.

"Have you even eaten? Your hands are weak."

I just stared at him without a word.

He grew irritated. "Have you gone mute?"

This was his tell. He was about to lose his temper, picking a fight over something trivial until I admitted I was wrong.

I couldn't help but reply sarcastically, "How could I possibly eat? I was a little busy at JFK, waiting for Mr. Thorne to grace me with his presence."

Julian was silent for a moment, then cleared his throat.

"If you were hungry, you could have found something. Did you have to wait there like an idiot? So stupid. Forget it. Don't worry about the massage tonight. Just get some rest."

His expression suggested he was granting me some great mercy, which was fine by me. I slipped under the covers, turning my back to him. It was the first time I hadn't tried to curl into his arms. After a long moment of stillness, he sighed, and the room went dark.

…

It was late morning when I woke up and went downstairs. For once, Julian hadn't gone to the office but was sitting on the sofa, reading a financial magazine.

He wore a pair of rimless glasses, and combined with his cashmere sweater, he looked gentle and refined. He looked so much like the man I first met that for a fleeting moment, my heart ached for who he used to be.

But when he looked up and spoke, the illusion shattered.

"What are you standing there for? Can't you see I'm waiting? Hurry up."

His eyes were full of impatience and condescension.

I nodded and quickly finished the cold breakfast on the table. After clearing my plate, I went to stand beside him.

Julian looked me up and down, frowning at my simple knit top and jeans.

"If you know you have bad taste, can't you at least try to dress up? Only I would tolerate a sloppy, tasteless woman like you."

Now, freed from the fog of my love for him, I saw his critiques for the venom they were—venom I had once mistaken for a strange form of affection. I rolled my eyes internally and nodded silently.

When I didn't blush or stammer as he expected, Julian fell silent for a moment before saying, "Forget it. Since I'm making it up to you today, I'll let it slide."

We were soon in the car. A heavy silence settled between us, broken only by the incessant ringing of Julian's phone.

The only person who dared to call so relentlessly was Chloe.

Julian showed no sign of annoyance. Instead, he pulled into a gas station and immediately answered the call.

I leaned against the window, staring at the scenery outside, half-listening to his soft, placating murmurs.

From the saccharine tones I could overhear, she was claiming she'd had a nightmare, and Julian's voice became increasingly doting.

It was a tone I had never heard him use with anyone, least of all me. It was so cloyingly sweet it made my stomach turn.

After consoling Chloe, Julian, a trace of that lingering affection still in his voice, told me to get out of the car.

"I've asked my assistant to come pick you up."

Abandoned at the gas station, I watched his car disappear down the road. A familiar bitterness washed over me. He wasn't coming back. Just like the other 47 times.

Ten minutes later, my best friend, Sloane Pierce, screeched to a halt in front of me in her Porsche. She rolled down the window, handed me a hot coffee, and scoffed.

"I told you, giving up your career for a man is professional suicide."