The day they buried my mother fell on Memorial Day.

I spotted Curtis at the cemetery. He'd been out of contact for days.

He was hiding behind a headstone in the distance, eyes locked on the back of a woman standing ahead of him.

In six years together, Curtis had vanished every Memorial Day without fail. I'd assumed he was visiting a relative's grave. Once, I offered to go with him.

He'd erupted.

"Willow Sullivan, I'm with you three hundred and sixty-four days a year. Can't I have one day to myself?"

That fight had spiraled into a three-month cold war. It ended when I lost our first baby.

And this time, I'd lost my mother.

Three hundred and sixty-four days of tenderness couldn't make up for a single day built on lies.

If he couldn't let go of the past, then I could walk forward alone. It wouldn't be the first time.

——

I was leaving the cemetery when the woman came out of nowhere on a rental bike and slammed straight into me.

I'd been reaching for my car door. The impact knocked me to the ground. White-hot pain shot through my ankle. It took three tries before I managed to stand.

Curtis came running from the distance.

"Are you okay?"

He was gripping the woman's shoulders, scanning her up and down.

Curtis Fox was famous in his circle for being unshakable. In negotiations that could make or break his company, the man didn't break a sweat.

I had never seen him this frantic.

Once he confirmed she was unhurt, he wheeled on me.

"What the hell kind of parking job is that."

My car was stationary. The engine wasn't even on.

His eyes met mine, and something flickered across his face. A flash of guilt, gone as quickly as it appeared.

The woman shrank to one side, voice small.

"I'm sorry, it was my fault. I wasn't paying attention on the bike..."

Curtis's tone melted instantly.

"It's not your fault. She parked in a bad spot. Where did you get hurt?"

The woman hesitated, then held out her right hand. A small patch of skin had been scraped off her palm.

Curtis's brow furrowed. He cupped her hand and blew gently on the wound.

Her eyes reddened. She tried to pull away.

"It's really nothing..."

A warm spring breeze drifted through the cemetery, but I felt cold down to my bones.

"Don't blame yourself. The scratch on the car is nothing—insurance will cover it. No need to apologize."

He finally spared me a glance.

"Willow, if you hadn't followed me here and parked wherever you pleased, none of this would've happened."

If he'd paid even the slightest attention, he would have seen my swollen, tear-ravaged eyes. He would have noticed the black mourning pin still fastened to my suit.

But he saw nothing.

The woman's gaze drifted between us.

"Do you two... know each other?"

Curtis said nothing.

So that was it. Six years of sharing a life, and he couldn't even give me a straight answer.

The woman turned to leave.

Curtis lunged forward and caught her wrist.

"Where are you going?"

"Let go of me. You already have someone new—why are you still holding on?"

He ignored her struggling, pulled her into his arms, and guided her firmly into my car.

"You're hurt. Stop being so stubborn."

"I'm taking you to the hospital."

His voice left no room for argument.

As he climbed into the driver's seat, he tossed me one last look. Light. Careless. Like I was an afterthought.

"I'm borrowing the car. Call yourself a ride."

The car pulled away and vanished down the road.

I clutched my throbbing ankle and sank onto the curb.

That woman—it wasn't the first time I'd seen her.

Curtis kept a locked drawer at home. I was never allowed to touch it.

I'd teased him once. "What are you hiding in there? Love letters from an ex?"

He'd gone quiet for a moment, then ruffled my hair.

"Something like that. Don't look. Leave me a little dignity."

He'd said it so casually, so openly, that I never thought to check again.

Six years together. He gave me the password to his bank account, let me check his phone whenever I wanted, even gave me the Fox family heirloom jade bracelet.

He gave me everything he could.

Everyone has a past. I told myself that.

So I let it go and pinned all my hopes on our future—a future that belonged to the two of us.

Once, I noticed a drawer left open and saw a Polaroid inside, its edges soft and worn from handling.

In the photo, a younger Curtis wore a white button-down, his arms wrapped around a girl who leaned against his shoulder with easy intimacy.

In the bottom-right corner, someone had written a line in small, careful script.

"May we stay together through every season—Lena"

I looked it up later, in secret. It was a line from an ancient poem.

May I remain by your side even when the world withers around us.

That day, I brought it up as casually as I could.

"Who's Lena? An ex?"

Curtis was holding me from behind. His voice came out low and muffled against my hair.

"Why are you asking about that all of a sudden?"

He didn't confirm it. He didn't deny it either. He just pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"That's all in the past."

Something twisted inside me, but when I looked up and met his gentle gaze, the words died on my tongue.

Some questions you never dare ask—because you're terrified of the answer.

Now the answer had walked right up to me on its own.

All those things he called "the past" had never actually passed.

I fumbled for my phone. The screen flickered to life for a split second, then went black.

Dead.

When your luck runs out, even the universe piles on.

Curtis wasn't home yet when I got back.

I iced my ankle, curled up on the couch, and couldn't summon the energy to move.

He came through the door carrying a small cake, flipped on the light, and paused when he saw me. A flicker of surprise crossed his face.

He set the cake on the table in front of me, crouched down, and ruffled my hair the way he always did.

"Is it cramps? Let me wash up and I'll make you some hot tea."

He was that kind of man—attentive, considerate, always one step ahead.

My mother had adored him. She used to say I could search the whole world and never find someone better.

I'd believed her. I thought I'd found the one.

Now a fog had settled over everything, and I couldn't see which way to go.

I'd just lost my mother. If I lost the man I'd spent six years building a life with, too, I didn't know whether I'd survive it.

While I sat there staring at nothing, Curtis slid the cake closer.

"Have something sweet. It'll help."

He stood, humming to himself as he disappeared into the bathroom.

His phone lit up on the coffee table. Something pulled my hand toward it before I could think.

It was the new contact he'd added today. Her profile picture and his were a matching set.

Back when Curtis and I were in the honeymoon phase, I'd begged him to do matching profile pictures with me.

He indulged me in everything—except that. On this one thing, he wouldn't budge.

"I've had this picture for years. It'd feel weird to change it."

"Besides, it's just a profile picture. It doesn't prove anything."

He was wrong.

A profile picture proved plenty.

At the very least, it proved that in his heart, I had never been his first choice. Just the consolation prize.

"Curtis, thank you for helping me revisit our college memories. The dessert tastes exactly the way it used to. Just like you…"

Every shred of hesitation, every thread of doubt—gone in an instant.

A fine, dense pain spread through my chest, threaded with nausea.

I didn't understand how one heart could hold two people at the same time.

Curtis came out of the bathroom with his hair still damp, steam clinging to his skin.

"What's wrong? Aren't you the one who always says there's nothing a slice of strawberry cake can't fix?"

Just like every other time I was upset, he scooped up a bite of cake and held the spoon to my lips. Tender. Practiced.

I turned my face away.

"Curtis, let's break up."

I used to be so certain he loved me.

He remembered my cramps came every month and always had ginger tea ready before I even asked. He knew I was afraid of the dark and never forgot to leave the nightlight on. No matter how late his business dinners ran, as long as he was sober enough to type, he'd send me a goodnight text. His plans for the future always included me. He'd even picked out names for our children.

But when I thought about that diary in the drawer, the certainty crumbled.

I'd come home that afternoon and couldn't resist any longer. I opened the drawer.

Beneath the yellowed photograph was a journal.

"April 3, 2017. Lena said she's like my shadow—wherever there's light, we'll never be apart. She's always afraid the light will go out and I won't be able to find her. How could that happen? She's taken root inside my heart. The only way to lose her would be to cut the heart out entirely."

"May 20, 2017. Lena gave me a photo of us together. She said we'd never be separated."

"August 15, 2017. Her mother's condition worsened. She cried so hard she couldn't breathe. I wanted to fly to her side, but I couldn't get time off during my internship. I wired her money. She sent it back. She said, 'Curtis, what we have shouldn't be tainted by money.'"

"October 22, 2017. She's decided to take a leave of absence and go home to care for her mother. She smiled at me through the glass, but it looked worse than crying. She told me to live well—her share too. But Lena, without you, how am I supposed to live at all?"

"January 3, 2018. She's busy. I can never reach her. It feels like the tide going out, and I can't hold on to anything."

"June 9, 2018. Lost contact completely. She deleted all her social media accounts. Her phone number is disconnected. Vanished without a trace. Lena, you're cruel."

The last page of the journal.

"June 30, 2018. Met a girl today. Her smile looks just like yours. Her name is Willow Sullivan, and her birthday is even the same day as yours. If that isn't fate, what is?"

Nothing after that.

Curtis stared at me for a long time.

Then he smiled, indulgent, as though I were a child throwing a tantrum.

"Come on, stop this. I know I shouldn't have left you on the side of the road today."

"But Lena was hurt. I had to take her to the hospital."

"I've already sent the car to the shop. It'll be good as new, I promise. Can you stop being upset now?"

A car could be fixed.

But a shattered heart—how do you fix that?

Tears spilled before I could stop them.

He didn't soften the way he used to. No tenderness, no concern. He paced in front of me, visibly irritated.

"Willow, can you stop being so unreasonable for once?"

"You can check my phone. You can look through my bank statements. What more do you want from me?"

"Lena has no parents. She's completely alone in this world. I'm not asking you to feel what she feels, but can't you show a shred of compassion?"

My chest locked up. I opened my mouth.

I wanted to tell him I was alone in this world now too.

I wanted to tell him I was the one who was hurt.

But in the end, all I wanted was to run.

The moment my feet hit the floor, a searing pain shot through me and I crumpled to the ground.

Curtis sighed, bent down, and carried me back to the bed.

I turned away, refusing to look at him. He grabbed my shoulders and forced me to face him.

"Willow, we promised each other we'd never go to bed angry. What exactly are you so upset about?"

When I still didn't answer, he leaned down and pressed his mouth hard against mine.

Back when things were good between us, he used to say there was nothing a night together couldn't fix.

My mother had been buried today. And he wanted—

Nausea surged through me. I shoved him off and slapped him across the face.

"Get out!"

Curtis ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. His patience finally snapped.