Seven years into my long romance with Quinn Swanson, the Swanson family invited my mother and me to spend New Year's at their old residence.

Mother was overjoyed. To make a good impression on her future in-laws, she spent the whole afternoon getting ready, even wearing the cheongsam she hadn't touched in years.

On the way to the old residence, Quinn suddenly got a call from his childhood friend, Lorraine Galloway.

He told us to find our own way and grab a cab, then hurried off alone in the car.

Less than a minute after we got out, the cold triggered Mother's old heart condition. It stopped. She collapsed into the snow.

I called Quinn's phone over and over.

There was an AED emergency device in the car. If he just came back, she could be saved.

But call after call, he cut me off.

When I finally got through, his voice was thick with impatience.

"Miriam Coleman, I told you to grab a cab yourselves. Can't you understand plain English?"

"Lorraine's old stomach trouble is acting up. I have to go check on her."

"Have Aunt Pansy Coleman put up with it for now. When you get to the Swanson estate, I'll apologize to her myself."

Then he hung up. When I called back, the phone was already off.

I held my mother, tears streaming down, and watched her die in my arms.

An hour later, Lorraine updated her social feed.

She and Quinn stood in the courtyard of the old residence, nestled sweetly together, holiday decorations in her hands.

"Spending the holidays with the person I love most is the greatest joy and happiness of my life!"

My heart went cold as ash. I threw the engagement ring I'd prepared into the trash.

Then I liked the post and left a comment.

"Wishing you both a happy New Year and a lifetime of togetherness."

——

The moment I finished, Quinn, whose phone had been off this whole time, called me instantly.

"Miriam, what's your problem?"

"Lorraine posts to celebrate the holiday, and you leave some snide little comment? What's that about?"

"And it's dark out now. Dinner's about to start."

"Lorraine's stomach is bothering her, but she pushed through it anyway and made Aunt Pansy's favorite, breaded pork."

"The whole family's waiting on you two."

"When are you and Aunt Pansy finally going to get here?"

Hearing him interrogate me, I felt nothing but a still, dead calm inside, drowning in grief.

After Mother died, I thought about a lot of things. I saw through a lot of things.

I said flatly, "We're not coming. Have your dinner without us."

Quinn's volume shot up several notches. "Miriam, you'd better think this through!"

"My parents invited you to dinner mainly to discuss our wedding."

"If you're going to turn around and go home over some petty little thing, then I'd say there's no point discussing the wedding at all."

I nodded. "Then let's not."

"Quinn, let's break up."

Quinn went blank for a full ten seconds.

In seven years of love, we'd had our conflicts, our fights.

But neither of us had ever said the word breakup.

He couldn't believe those words had come from my mouth.

Then Lorraine's voice came from beside him. "Quinn, I think my stomach's acting up again."

"Could you help me back inside to rest?"

Quinn agreed without a shred of hesitation, then said coldly into the phone, "Miriam, you said it yourself."

"Fine, we break up. Just don't come crying about it later."

I said nothing and pressed end.

By the time I'd handled my mother's funeral alone, it was already the seventh day of the new year.

In those days, Quinn didn't call once. Not a single message.

His feed stayed silent, but Lorraine updated hers every day, more diligent than clocking in for work.

Today the flower market, tomorrow the fair, the day after, skiing.

Every carefully composed photo had Quinn in it.

The comment section was buzzing too.

"Congrats, class president. You and our campus heartthrob finally made it official."

"True love wins in the end. Wishing you both the best."

"I always said you two were the perfect match."

"Madam President, when do we get to toast at your wedding? We've been waiting so long our necks are sore."

"…"

Back home, I sat on the couch watching the snow drift past the window, and I stayed like that, still, for the whole afternoon.

After dark, a key turned in the front door.

Quinn was home.

He froze for a second when he saw me on the couch.

"Miriam, it's pitch dark. Why haven't you turned on the lights?"

I lifted my eyes to him and said nothing.

Quinn kicked off his shoes and came to sit beside me.

"What, still mad at me?"

As he leaned in, I caught the cloying scent of women's perfume, not the kind I ever wore.

His thin lips came down, warm with liquor, and I drew back half a step without a flicker of expression.

Quinn stopped short.

Every quarrel before this, no matter how furious I got, always crumbled in the end against his tenderness and his kisses.

But now I didn't just refuse him. He could see the disgust in my eyes.

Quinn's brows knit together. "Miriam, how long are you going to keep this up?"

"It's New Year's. I don't want to fight with you."

I pressed my lips together and still didn't speak.

His face softened a little. "That night I left you two on the road, I know it wasn't right of me."

"But Lorraine's stomach was acting up. I couldn't just leave her."

"And I said back then I'd apologize to your mother myself."

"Over one small thing, you and your mother actually blew us off."

"Do you have any idea how long my parents spent preparing that New Year's dinner?"

"Or how disappointed they were when they knew you weren't coming? How angry?"

"If Lorraine hadn't gone out of her way to explain things for you, the wedding would've been off already."

Quinn pulled a gold-embossed red invitation from his bag and set it on the coffee table.

"My parents already arranged the engagement banquet. It's set for the night of the New Year's lantern celebration."

"I'll call your mother right now to tell her. I'm sure she'll be thrilled."

I drew a deep breath and made myself steadier. "There's no need. We've already broken up."

"And she won't answer your call."

Quinn's brows drew tight again. "Miriam, you're a grown woman. Can you stop throwing a childish tantrum?"

"Do you know how much your mother dotes on me? How much she spoils me?"

"She once told me she dreamed of the day I'd marry you and bring you home."

"How could she possibly not answer my call?"

Hearing all of this, my heart felt gripped by an unseen hand, clenched so hard I couldn't breathe.

Quinn wasn't wrong. My mother truly doted on him, spoiled him, had long since thought of him as her son-in-law.

One word from him that he wanted soup, and she'd be up at four or five in the morning, hurrying to the market for the freshest ingredients.

When he complained the hired help didn't clean well enough, she came every single day, right on time, to tidy up for us, rain or shine.

When he ran a high fever and I wasn't home, the moment she heard, she rushed over and got him to the hospital, and from the sleepless night and the strain she nearly collapsed from a heart attack…

Seven years of living together, and the love my mother poured into Quinn was no less than what she gave me.

So when the Swansons invited us to New Year's dinner, she agreed without a second's hesitation.

To make the best possible impression on her future in-laws, she started getting ready first thing that morning.

Doing her hair, putting on foundation, penciling in her brows…

She had even taken out the qipao she'd treasured for over a decade.

I told her the weather was too cold, that it wasn't the right dress for New Year's.

She smiled and said it was fine. She'd just throw a coat over it, and since she'd be driven door to door, she wouldn't catch a chill.

Besides, that dress had been a gift from my father when they married.

Wearing it, in a way, meant carrying a piece of him along.

As she spoke, tears glistened at the corners of her eyes.

I fell silent for a few seconds, and let it go.

On the way to the old Swanson residence, my mother chatted and laughed with Quinn the whole time.

Then Lorraine's call came, and Quinn's smile vanished in an instant.

He suggested the two of us take a taxi ourselves. I refused.

In that heavy snow you couldn't flag down a cab, and my mother couldn't be out in the cold.

My mother saw the anxiety and urgency on Quinn's face, and shot me a look.

Dutiful as always, I didn't dare go against her wishes, and in the end I got out of the car.

But I never imagined that less than a minute after we stepped out, the cold triggered her illness, and her heart stopped.

The more I thought about it, the colder my heart went, the more it ached.

I wanted to slap myself across the face.

If I'd only stood my ground a little harder back then, maybe my mother wouldn't have died.

Seeing that I kept saying nothing, Quinn lost his patience.

"Miriam, you've disappointed me so much."

"Fine. If you insist on splitting hairs, then let's bring Mother in to weigh in, and see who was really right and who was wrong."

Just as he picked up his phone, it started ringing.

A very particular, dedicated ringtone.

Exactly the same one I'd heard in the car on New Year's Eve.

Quinn's expression shifted slightly. He strode quickly out onto the balcony before answering.

Fragments of the conversation drifted back.

"Who is this? What, Lorraine's drunk, passed out on the side of the road?"

"...Okay, thank you, I'll be right there!"

Quinn rushed off in a hurry.

He didn't even spare a word to explain to me.

Just as resolute, just as decisive, as the day he abandoned my mother and me on New Year's Eve.

A bitter taste rose to my face.

No matter when, Lorraine was irreplaceable in his heart.

That being so, it was time for me to leave too.

Before she died, the wish my mother longed for most, apart from seeing me married with children, was to take one trip to Luxembourg.

That was where she and my father had first met, a place holding so, so many beautiful memories.

All these years, taking care of Quinn had kept that wish out of reach.

I made up my mind. I would take my mother's ashes and go on a trip around the world.

The final stop would be Luxembourg.

As I was looking up information and hunting for travel guides, Lorraine's social media updated again.

I hadn't meant to look, but my finger tapped it open as if some force were guiding it.

The first photo: Quinn, who had never lifted a finger in a kitchen in his life, cooking noodles.

The second photo: Quinn feeding Lorraine those noodles, his face full of concern and tenderness, an aching softness I had never once seen him show me.

The third photo: Quinn carefully scrubbing the stains from the carpet and the couch.

My heart filled up all over again with bitterness and ache.

Last Thanksgiving, for an important Swanson Group project, I'd drunk three whole bottles of red wine with a client and thrown up until the world went dark.

Quinn had stared at me passed out on the couch, at a total loss, and in the end he'd called my mother to come help.

While she bustled around taking care of me, he stood far off with his nose pinched shut, disgusted by how foul and overpowering my vomit was.

Yet in front of Lorraine, there wasn't the slightest trace of disgust. He was more attentive than any real husband.

...

Quinn didn't come home all night, and he didn't show up for the next several days either.