After packing, I realized I only had a suitcase’s worth of clothes, even less than when I moved out after college graduation.

Checking my phone, I saw it was already past midnight.

Cole still hadn’t returned.

No messages either.

It dawned on me that what I thought was a shared journey with Cole was really just me going it alone.

He didn’t care at all.

That was not what he wanted, either.

Dragging my suitcase downstairs to catch a cab, I realized I had nowhere to go.

Hesitating whether to go back up, I suddenly saw Cole.

He wasn’t alone, was he?

The dim lights in the neighborhood were faint, but I could see two figures entering the elevator.

At this hour, it had to be Nadia.

Checking my phone again, sure enough, Cole had replied, “I’m tired. I don’t want to argue today.”

That was it.

Just those two sentences.

Any thought of staying another night vanished.

I wandered around the building with my suitcase.

After about ten minutes, the security guard came up with a flashlight.

“Ms. Nolan, did you forget your keys? Why not have family pick you up? It’s not safe here at this hour.”

Even the security guard cared about my safety, unlike Cole.

I truly had nowhere to go.

After college, I turned down a great job offer in Atlanta to follow Cole to a completely unfamiliar place, Denver.

Over time, I lost contact with friends from back then.

Tears started to flow uncontrollably.

I wasn’t crying because Cole was terrible, but for myself.

For knowing it was wrong but not having the courage to leave him.

Everyone had warned me not to be the rebound.

Cole and Nadia’s story was well-known.

But I was naive.

I thought I could wait.

I believed that long-term companionship could outweigh youthful affection.

I believed that by staying by Cole’s side, he would eventually see me.

For ten years, I helped him move past Nadia’s sudden departure, mend his family relationships, and build his design studio from the ground up.

Now, Cole was a successful young founder of a design studio, and I was supposed to be Mrs. Arnold, his soon-to-be wife.

I looked up at what was supposed to be my home as the lights dimmed.

It was like waking from a dream.

What’s not meant for me would never be mine.

Just as I was about to book a nearby hotel, a few messages suddenly popped up on my phone.

[Summer, I know it’s rude to disturb you and Cole on Valentine’s Day. You two must be cozying up at home right now. I don’t expect you to come see me. But can you recommend some good places to eat in Denver? I’m here on a business trip.]

It was my best friend from college, Claire, who had vehemently advised me against being with Cole.

Her fiery temper even led her to say, “If you’re with him, we can’t be friends.”

I found it strange back then.

What’s so abnormal about dating?

She threatened to cut ties over it?

Though she said that, her sharp tongue belied a tender heart, and she never really cut ties.

We kept up with each other’s lives through social media and exchanged holiday greetings.

I wiped my tears and messaged her:

[Can I stay with you tonight?]

With that, she exploded.

[What’s up. Did you argue with Cole? I told you he was no good. Come on, take a cab to the Regal Hotel. I’ll come down to meet you.”