His phone cut her off mid-sentence.

"Stanley, Brenna was so upset after what your girlfriend said to her that she wasn't paying attention and got into a car accident."

His face changed. "Fine, I understand. I'll be right there."

His hurried figure disappeared at the far end of the rose-lined path.

The planners glanced at one another.

"Ms. Quimby, do you still want the roses swapped out for the ranunculus and peonies?"

I looked at the reception hall in front of me.

The floral arrangements wound around the crystal chandeliers, the rose wall on the raised platform for photos, the balloons floating above the center of every table, the strings of lights lining the red carpet as path markers.

Every last detail was something I'd stayed up late agonizing over.

And all of it had been brushed aside by a single sentence from his little childhood sweetheart.

The first time the wedding was called off, my mother had asked me, "A boyfriend who changes your wedding just to satisfy some childhood friend's whim. Why do you keep indulging it?"

Now I understood. I wasn't indulging anything.

I was waiting. Waiting for this exact moment, when my heart finally went dead.

"No need to change anything. The wedding is canceled. I'll have to trouble you to take all of this down. As for the deposit, follow the contract. There's no need to refund it."

Since I was already at the hotel, I went to find the person in charge.

I told them the wedding three days from now was canceled.

The hotel manager nodded. "So when would you like to reschedule it for?"

I shook my head. "It's not being rescheduled. It's canceled. There won't be a wedding at all."

Back home.

One by one, I contacted friends and family, apologized, and told them the wedding was off.

At the same time, I took down the double-happiness characters pasted on the walls, the decorative balloons, and the wedding photos, and carried them all to the trash cans downstairs.

Once all of it was done, I booked a flight home for tomorrow night.

Right then, a notification popped up on my phone.

I opened it. It was a post Brenna had put up on her feed.

She was sitting on a couch, both of her pale, bare legs stretched out.

And Stanley was down on one knee, dabbing medicine on a small red swollen spot on her knee.

The caption read: 【I already told him it was just a little bump, the skin isn't even broken, but he still rushed to put medicine on it. Nothing beats a childhood sweetheart.】

Below it, a whole string of likes and comments.

"Of course. Stanley treats you with such care. Forget a little bump, if you shed a single tear he'd be beside himself."

"If you hadn't turned down Stanley's confession back then, none of this Nora Quimby business would even exist."

"If you ask me, you and Stanley are still the best match. Some latecomer will never beat childhood sweethearts."

"Exactly. You two should just get married. He'd definitely be willing to break up with her."

Without thinking, I looked down at the thumb of my left hand, at the faint scar on it.

Last week I'd cut my finger by accident while cooking, and all he'd said was, "The cut's tiny. Just put a bandage on it."

I let out a small, self-mocking laugh.

And gave that post a like.

When Stanley saw the notification that I'd liked it, his hand clenched around his phone.

It was already past midnight. On any other night I'd have called him long ago, worried he might be drunk, asking whether he needed a ride.

But tonight there wasn't a single call or text from me on his phone.

His brow furrowed despite himself.

Brenna pursed her lips. "I'm a woman, I understand women best. Nora's giving you the cold shoulder on purpose. She wants you to cave. Forget it, do whatever you want about your wedding. I try to give you a friendly heads-up and I end up being the bad guy."

"You should just head back soon. Otherwise that girlfriend of yours will blame us again for dragging you out to drink."

Stanley turned off his phone and said coldly, "Don't bother with her. Let her cool off on her own. She'll come around once she thinks it through."

The next morning.

I went straight to the office and handed in my resignation.

My coworkers were curious. "Are you quitting because you're getting married?"

I nodded. If I was going back to Southport for an arranged marriage, there was no reason to keep this job.

They all congratulated me, said my husband must love me a lot if he didn't want me working so hard.

I just smiled and didn't explain.

After I finished the paperwork and left, I ran into Brenna Whitfield.

"So you figure life's set once you marry Stanley, and now you're quitting to be a full-time wife?"

"Makes sense. When ordinary people like you finally land a rich heir, of course you cling on for dear life."

I ignored her. But she looked at the bracelet on my wrist and gave a knowing little smile. "That's the bracelet Stanley gave me when he confessed to me back then. I didn't take it. It suits you, actually."

I glanced down at the silver bracelet on my wrist. He'd given it to me the day I agreed to be his girlfriend. So it had really been Brenna's castoff?

Strangely, I wasn't surprised.

I just looked at her, at how much she wanted to provoke me. "You make Stanley delay the wedding over and over, again and again. It's all so I'll understand that between you and me, Stanley will always choose you, isn't it?"

"You don't have to work so hard anymore. Stanley. I don't want him. If you want him, go ahead and take him."

Brenna sneered. "Who are you kidding? Five years with Stanley, and you'd just let go?"

I didn't answer her. I slid the bracelet off, dropped it into her hand, turned, and walked away.

Back home, I packed my documents. Everything else, the cups, the toothbrush, the clothes, everything tied to those five years, I threw in the trash.

Then I cooked one last dinner. Five years together, I thought. At least we could break up with some dignity.

Stanley came home with a sour face. "What did you say to Brenna at the office today?"

I opened my mouth and he cut me off. "Brenna already said she's staying out of our wedding from now on. She's home crying by herself. Are you happy now?"

I took a deep breath. "Stanley, sit down. There's something I need to tell you."

"It's about the wedding again, isn't it? Wait until Brenna's calmed down."

"She's still crying right now. I have to go comfort her first."

He glanced at the garlic butter shrimp I'd made on the table. "Brenna loves this dish. I'll take it over to her. Just eat by yourself tonight."

I couldn't stop myself. "I spent a long time cleaning those shrimp to make that…"

His voice jumped several notches. "It's just postponing the wedding once. It's not like we haven't done it before. You're really going to nickel-and-dime me over a plate of shrimp?"

"Nora, you know I can't stand it when someone makes a fuss."

I looked at the impatience in his eyes and wanted so badly to ask him: wasn't Brenna the one making a fuss, dragging our wedding out again and again?

But it felt pointless.

I looked at the shrimp hanging from his hand.

It had been flown in fresh that morning. We'd agreed to have it together tonight.

"Nora, take some time and think it through yourself. When you've come around, we'll talk about the wedding. I won't be home tonight. Don't keep calling me. It kills the mood."

The last thread of hope in me went slack. "Fine."

He remembered to go comfort Brenna, but forgot he was supposed to have dinner with me.

He didn't notice the wedding banners and the wedding photos stripped from the room either.

Didn't notice the suitcase beside me.

His attention had never once been on me.

When you're disappointed all the way to the bottom, a hope that goes unanswered somehow stops being so hard to bear.

It was only that the dignified breakup I'd wanted never made it out of my mouth.

I watched the room settle back into quiet, the food on the table untouched.

And something in me let go.

When it was time to leave for the airport, I sent Stanley one message. "Let's break up!"

Blocked. Deleted. Powered off.

The city shrank in my window as the plane climbed higher and higher.

And those five years seemed to fade with it, until they were a single black dot, and then nothing at all.