On our anniversary, Cyrus left me alone again.

It takes four hours to drive from Springfield to Maplewood, and he made the journey overnight without stopping.

Just before midnight, he sent birthday wishes—not to me, but to Nina Brooks.

In her latest updates, I saw them together, arms entwined, holding a gleaming opal ring.

“Four hours can’t stop love,” the caption read.

But Cyrus seemed to have forgotten that those same four hours marked the time I’d been stranded in the mountains.

Lost in a fog-drenched jungle, my phone battery teetering on the edge of death.

By then, my love for Cyrus felt as fragile as the connection I was desperately searching for.

——

In the fourth hour, I finally stumbled onto a spot with a signal.

Standing on the edge of a barren cliff, the wind howled around me, threatening to hurl me into the abyss.

My fingers trembled as I dialed the police, my body a shivering mess of fear and exhaustion.

“Do you know your exact location?” the officer asked, his voice steady.

I couldn’t answer. My voice stuck in my throat, my mind blank.

I only knew that I was standing at the edge—of the cliff, of my strength, and of whatever love I thought I still had left for Cyrus.

After walking aimlessly for four hours, I couldn’t even tell east from west.

The terrain was so convoluted that even the rescuers would need time to reach me.

For a fleeting moment, I thought, This is it. I’m going to die here.

After much hesitation, I dialed Cyrus.

“Cyrus, I’m scared… I feel like I won’t make it back alive,” I stammered the moment he picked up.

The tears came unbidden, my words broken by sobs.

“Didn’t you call the police? Just stay where you are,” he said, his voice low and composed.

Yet I caught it—the faint edge of impatience.

Ignoring his tone, I blurted out, “If I don’t survive, please scatter my ashes in Lake Willow. And my kitten… take care of her. If you can’t, find her a loving home.”

My words spilled out in a rush, an impromptu list of last wishes.

There was silence on the other end before he finally muttered, “Oh, I see. Anything else?”

His voice was clipped, as if each second on the call was a burden.

Before I could muster the courage to say what I really wanted to—I love you—he interrupted.

“Nothing? Okay, I’ll hang up.”

And just like that, the call ended.

But not before I heard it: a girl’s voice in the background.

"Is it Amara?"

"No, just a harassing call."

Cyrus' tone was soft now, a stark contrast to the cold indifference he'd shown me earlier. His gentleness felt like a dagger twisting in my chest, especially when I recognized the other voice in the background.

My fingers trembled as I opened the message board. Sure enough, Nina had just posted an update:

"Four hours can't stop love. He made it before midnight. I forgive him this time."

The photo beneath the caption sent a wave of bitterness crashing over me. Cyrus had his arm around Nina’s shoulders, his smile radiant with happiness. She extended her right hand toward the camera, the diamond ring on her finger gleaming under the spotlight.

And him? He was still wearing the mountaineering jacket I had bought for him.

My phone battery blinked at 10%, a cruel reminder of how little time I had left to stay connected with the rescuers. I forced myself to focus—there wasn’t time to dwell on Nina’s post.

The mountain air grew colder, biting into my skin with every passing moment. Desperation drove me to take off my only layer of warmth—a pink sweater—and tie it to a branch, hoping it might catch someone’s attention.

I curled into myself, trying to trap what little warmth remained, but the chill was relentless. My limbs grew numb, and my strength faded as the cold seeped into my bones.

As I teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, the image of that photo burned into my mind: Cyrus' joyful smile, the glow of the ring, and the words that cut deeper than the cold.

In the orange-yellow glow, Nina stood center stage in a sleek evening dress, the room around her undoubtedly warm and airtight.

"Can you hear me now? Are you okay?"

In a haze, I heard a man’s unfamiliar voice, distant yet urgent. Struggling to open my eyes, the searing orange light blurred my vision. A shadowy figure extended a hand toward me.

"Am I… dead? Have you come to take me?" I muttered, frozen and delirious, unable to comprehend that the figures before me weren’t specters but the rescue team.

I had been saved.

Inside the rescue vehicle, warmth slowly returned to my body as I regained consciousness. My mind cleared, though my limbs still felt heavy with exhaustion.

"What were you doing out there alone in the middle of the wilderness?" One of the rescuers scolded, his tone sharp with concern. "Don’t you know how dangerous these mountains are? It’s almost impossible to get out on your own."

I nodded weakly, their words cutting deeper because I already knew the truth. The dangers of this mountain weren’t lost on me, but Cyrus had insisted on coming.

"The summit has the perfect vantage point for shooting the sunrise. If I can capture it, I’ll definitely win the photography competition!" he'd said with unwavering determination.

"I know you’re the best—you’ll nail it," I had replied, agreeing without hesitation.

The mountain’s treacherous terrain deterred most photographers, which only fueled Cyrus' resolve. I knew his temperament too well; stubborn like his brother. Once he set his mind on something, there was no stopping him.

So I followed him without protest, carrying his gear and trailing closely as he led the way.

By the time we reached the summit at eight in the evening, the darkness was thick.

We sat on the cold, hard ground as Cyrus draped an arm around my shoulders.

"Ceremonies and long queues are so dull. Let’s celebrate our anniversary here instead," he said with a carefree smile.

On the exposed mountaintop, with a flimsy tent that barely held against the wind and a sky full of stars now hidden by looming clouds, this was his anniversary gift to me.

Though disappointment tugged at my heart, I forced a smile and nodded. At least he remembered our anniversary.

As I wrestled with the windblown tent, I caught sight of Cyrus staring at his phone for what seemed like an eternity. His fingers tapped the screen with urgency, and when he finally set it down, there was a flicker of panic in his eyes.

Before I could ask, he was gone.

Moments later, a message appeared on my phone: "There’s an emergency at work. I have to leave."

Cyrus left me. Again.

I decided to descend the mountain alone, unaware of how quickly I’d lose my way in the maze of trees and rocky trails.

It wasn’t until much later, when I had already been rescued, that I learned the truth. Cyrus had rushed down the mountain not for work, but to send birthday wishes to Nina before midnight.

At the birthday party he once claimed to hate, he wore the happiest smile I’d ever seen.

The next day, Cyrus showed up at the hospital. His coat hung awkwardly on his tall frame, a mismatched and hurried choice.

"Are you okay? Are you still feeling unwell?"

His voice reached me before he stepped into the room. I turned toward the door just as he walked in—Nina following closely behind him.

"Sister, I heard you were stranded on the mountain for six hours. It must’ve been so cold," she said with a tone that felt hollow, her concern as fragile as my resolve.

"Cold," I replied, my voice low. "Much colder than in a house."

Although I was answering Nina, my gaze instinctively shifted to Cyrus.

He knew exactly what I meant by "the house."

"You know," he started, his tone light, "Nina hasn’t been back to Washington in a long time. I just wanted to take advantage of her birthday to get everyone together. That’s all."

I stared at him, my voice sharp yet quiet. "But you told me there was something urgent at the company."

He met my eyes, his expression steady, but there wasn’t a trace of remorse in his voice as he replied, "I just didn’t want you to get upset. That’s all."

"Upset?" I repeated, incredulous.

With a casual shrug, he added, "You’re the best. I knew you wouldn’t mind."

Every time I argue with Cyrus, it always ends with him saying, "You're the best." He knows I’ll tolerate him endlessly and forgive all his mistakes. But this time... this time, I really don’t want to just let it go.

"Cyrus, let’s break up."

I stared at him for what felt like an eternity before finally speaking those words.

The moment Cyrus hung up the phone, it hit me—I realized he no longer loved me. A relationship based on one-sided effort is doomed to fail.

When I said the words "break up," his eyes suddenly turned cold, his gaze sharp with something darker.

"I must have made you angry, I’m sorry, I really am," he said, his voice dripping with insincerity. He turned to Nina, who, incredibly, was wiping away a tear.

She leaned into him, her body pressing against his.

With practiced ease, Cyrus wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. "Amara, are you done?" he asked, his tone dismissive. "I’ve apologized. Why do you have to make this such a big deal?"

Then, with exaggerated tenderness, he wiped away the tear from Nina’s cheek. "It’s fine," he said, a touch of smugness in his voice. "Don’t pay attention to her. Don’t apologize to her."

He looked down at the woman in his arms, his voice soft, as though speaking to a child. "I’ve spoiled her. She doesn’t know her place."

As they turned to leave, Cyrus paused at the door and glanced back at me, his expression suddenly neutral, as if he had just remembered something.

"I’ll take you to try on the wedding dress next week. Don’t be late."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. "Don’t forget," he added, his tone flat. "This is what you promised my brother. And this is what you promised me."

If he hadn’t said it, I might have forgotten. Four years ago, before Simon passed away, he’d asked me, in a barely audible voice, to take care of Cyrus. I agreed.

At Simon’s funeral, Cyrus confessed that this was his one wish, and I had promised.

I had kept my promise to take care of him.

But I was really tired.

I showed up at the wedding dress shop, just as I had promised.

Cyrus had always been late in the past, but today, he was already there, sitting in the shop, waiting for me.

The moment our eyes met, he smiled brightly, as if everything that had happened just days ago had never occurred.

"I knew you’d come back, you're the best."

I had heard those words so many times before, but today, they made me feel sick.

Cyrus eagerly pulled me into the store, excitedly showing me the wedding dress he had already picked out.

"This one’s perfect. It’ll highlight your figure beautifully."

He was like an overenthusiastic puppy, but I couldn’t bring myself to smile in this seemingly warm moment.

"The fiancé has great taste," the clerk said, admiring Cyrus' choice.

She took the dress and began guiding me toward the fitting room, but I waved my hand, stopping her.

"I can't get married this time."

"Cyrus, let’s let each other go, okay?"

I had been thinking about our relationship for a while now. Maybe, from the very beginning, it had never been based on love.

At least not for me.

This was the second time I was breaking up with Cyrus, but this time, there was no guilt, no hesitation. I looked at him straight in the eyes.

Cyrus froze, caught off guard.

For the sake of the clerk’s presence, he didn’t rush up to grab me or shout at me. But his words still stung.

"But my brother is dead, can’t you just forget him?"

The clerk, who had been quietly observing, now widened her eyes in shock.

It was probably the first time she had witnessed a brother-in-law and sister-in-law in a wedding dress shop