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.

"Fine. Just don't come crawling back to me on your knees!"

That was one of only two fights we had in six years.

The first was during our second year together, when I insisted he take me along to visit his family's graves on Memorial Day.

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

We didn't speak for three months after that.

I was heartbroken, miserable, drifting through my days in a fog. One afternoon I missed a step on a staircase.

The tiny life I hadn't even known about yet was gone, just like that.

Curtis rushed to the hospital the moment he heard. He stayed up all night, tending to me with a gentleness I'd never seen before.

Neither of us mentioned what had happened that day. It was an unspoken pact.

And every Memorial Day after that, I knew better than to ask.

The cold war stretched all the way to my birthday, when Curtis appeared in front of me holding a bouquet of red roses.

"Willow, let's get married."

An old movie was playing on the TV behind us. The leads were kissing goodbye in the rain. It was his favorite film. We'd watched it together at least ten times.

When I didn't answer, he wrapped his arms around me from behind and pressed his chin against my shoulder. His voice was rough.

"I've been thinking about this for a long time. I always told myself I needed to give you the best of everything first."

"But now I just want to build a home with you. I want to wake up every morning and see your face."

I felt nothing. Not a ripple.

"Curtis, are you truly over Lena?"

A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, there and gone.

He cradled my face in both hands, pressing his forehead to mine.

"Willow, let the past stay in the past. Trust me."

On the surface, things went back to the way they'd been.

But I was the only one who knew there was no going back. I was just giving myself time to say goodbye in silence.

Curtis threw himself into wedding planning with infectious enthusiasm, browsing gowns and rings, consulting event planners.

I watched it all from behind a pane of frosted glass, like a silent film that had nothing to do with me.

His excitement and anticipation seemed genuine enough, yet none of it stirred even a spark of hope in my chest.

Then came the night of the proposal.

Curtis wore a tailored suit. He lowered himself onto one knee.

Before a single word left his mouth, he saw Lena clap a hand over her mouth and storm out, slamming the door behind her.

He looked at me, guilt already flooding his face, and moved to go after her.

I grabbed his hand. All I wanted was to hold on to one last scrap of dignity.

"Can you at least wait until this is over?"

Curtis froze for a second. Then, one by one, he pried my fingers loose and walked out without looking back.

I was left standing there, alone, surrounded by the pitying stares and barely concealed smirks of every friend in the room.

Like a glutton for punishment, I followed.

He caught up to Lena outside and pulled her back by the arm.

Their eyes locked. The moment he saw how red and swollen hers were, Curtis caved first.

"You had a boyfriend that day. You turned me down on your own birthday. What's there to be upset about now?"

Lena pounded her fists against his chest.

"You jerk. Curtis Fox, you're such a jerk!"

Then she threw herself into his arms and sobbed harder.

"I'm sick. I didn't want to drag you down with me. I thought I was strong enough to let go, but I can't stop thinking about you. What am I supposed to do?"

"Curtis, watching you marry another woman is killing me."

"Curtis, I love you. Every single day since we parted, I have never stopped loving you."

Tears streaked her face like rain on pear blossoms as she tilted her chin up, rose onto her toes, and brought her lips to his.

Every muscle in Curtis's body went rigid. The veins on the backs of his hands stood out like cords.

Then he shoved her against the wall and kissed her back, hard.

"Lena, I love you too."

The most devastating love confession two reunited hearts could share.

I walked toward them, one slow step at a time.

Lena saw me first. She straightened, composed herself.

Curtis followed her gaze, and the color drained from his face.

"Willow, let me explain—"

I stood perfectly still, perfectly quiet. And he couldn't get out another word.