Chapter 1

Eric and I were together for seven years. The thing he said to me most often was:

"Sorry, I forgot."

He forgot my birthday. Forgot the trips we'd planned. Forgot to buy medicine when I was burning up with a hundred-and-four-degree fever.

I'd cried over it. I'd fought with him about it. He'd always rub his temples, exhausted:

"Once this busy stretch is over, I'll make it up to you."

Looking at the weariness pooled beneath his eyes, I swallowed my hurt again and again, telling myself he was tired—that I shouldn't make things harder for him.

Until Grandma was suddenly on her deathbed, gripping my hand with what little strength she had left:

"Harper… I still haven't met your boyfriend…"

I dialed his number with trembling fingers. It rang twice before he hung up.

Eric sent back a cold text:

**[Busy. We'll talk when I'm home.]**

At the same time, the company's new intern Sarah updated her Instagram:

**[Successfully convinced Boss to ditch work for a movie today!]**

Half a face was visible in the photo beside hers. Eric's.

So when I needed him most, his time and attention went to someone else.

Then there was no point in continuing this anymore.

…

The heart monitor flatlined into a cold, unbroken line.

I reached over and closed Grandma's eyes—the eyes that death hadn't been able to shut.

When I signed the death certificate, my hands shook so badly I could barely hold the pen.

The nurse looked at me with concern. "Would you like us to contact another family member to help?"

I shook my head.

Fifteen years ago, my parents died in a car accident. I was about to be placed in a group home when Grandma took three connecting buses to come get me and bring me home with her.

To raise me, she'd worked simultaneously as a milk delivery woman, a gardener, and a waitress. She'd wrecked her body doing it, and even on her deathbed, she was still worrying about me—afraid the man I'd chosen wouldn't take proper care of me.

I took three days off. Alone, I contacted the funeral home and watched her go into the cremation chamber.

It wasn't until I was holding the urn that I finally collapsed against the wall and sobbed.

Eric's call came through.

"You took time off? Why?"

I forced down the sound of crying. "I just… wanted to rest for a couple days."

He paused, a hint of hesitation in his voice. "Have you been crying?"

I was about to answer when a startled female voice came through from his end:

"What happened to Harper? Did some creep grope her on the subway or something? If Eric had been there, no one would've messed with her!"

Sarah.

I had no idea what to say.

Before, I would have demanded to know why he was with her again. Told her to mind her own damn business.

But now, I just felt tired.

When I said nothing, Eric cut in, his tone scolding yet indulgent:

"Sarah, knock it off."

"So, Harper, what's going on?" His voice went soft. "I'm done with work now. Just tell me straight."

All I felt was cold. I mumbled something vague and hung up.

After the arrangements were handled, I dragged my exhausted body back to the apartment.

The moment I pushed open the door, I froze.

Sarah was wearing one of Eric's dress shirts, bare-legged, curled up in his arms watching a movie.

I'd begged him countless times to watch movies with me. He'd always pat my head:

"I've got a multi-million-dollar case to deal with. Next time, Harper. I promise I'll make up for every movie I owe you."

He could find the time to watch movies with someone else, but he'd never kept a single promise to me.

Was he really that busy?

Or was it because I never threw tantrums—so I was the one whose feelings didn't require maintenance?

Hearing me come in, Sarah looked up:

"Oh! Harper's home!"

She opened the shoe cabinet with practiced ease, trotted over, and held out a pair of disposable slippers. "Come in, come in—it's cold outside."

I looked down. On her feet were my favorite fuzzy slippers.

As if she were the lady of this house.

Before I moved in with Eric, I'd had a Maine Coon I'd raised for three years. He made me give it away, citing his germophobia.

Yet now he casually took the blanket he always used and draped it over Sarah's shoulders.

He turned to me, his tone as light as if he were discussing tomorrow's weather:

"Harper, Sarah's landlord kicked her out today. We've got a spare room anyway—let her stay for a while."

"You've always been reasonable. I know you won't make a fuss about it."

Reasonable.

I'd been hearing that word for too many years.

I looked up, eyes rimmed red. "And what if I do make a fuss?"

He stared at me, stunned.

I spoke softly: "Eric, let's break up."

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