Chapter 1

Phil Swanson's childhood sweetheart dumped a bowl of scalding soup all over me.

Then she clutched her wrist and cried harder than I did.

Phil frowned. "Kayla Pruitt, why did you flinch? Now you've burned her."

I looked down at the blisters rising on my arm.

He handed me a napkin. "Just apologize and we're done. Don't make a scene."

Something in me went quiet. It wasn't worth it anymore.

"Phil."

I slid off the ring and set it on the table.

"Go be with her."

He froze.

As I turned to leave, I heard him soothing her behind me. "Stop crying. I'll make her apologize to you, all right?"

That night I moved out.

The next day he was waiting outside my office. "Are you done throwing your tantrum?"

I opened my phone and showed him the photos.

Him and Sarah Winfield, kissing at a bar.

The color drained from his face.

"Last Friday you told me you were working late."

I smiled.

He came after me and grabbed my wrist.

I pulled free. "Don't touch me. You're filthy."

He stayed where he was and didn't follow.

Later I heard from friends that he'd turned the whole city upside down looking for me.

He still wears that ring on his little finger to this day.

But I'd already changed my number.

And I'd already found someone new.

1

The scalding soup splashed across my arm.

The skin flared an angry, searing red almost at once.

Across from me, Sarah let out a shrill "Ah!" and cupped her own wrist.

The tears came on cue, falling prettily down her face.

"My hand, it hurts so much..."

Phil sprang away from my side and rushed straight to her.

He seized her wrist, turning it over anxiously.

"Where did it burn you? Let me see."

Sarah's wrist was as fair as ever, with only a few stray drops of soup on it.

My arm, meanwhile, had already begun to bead with fine blisters.

Phil finally spared me a single second of his attention.

His brows drew together.

"Kayla, why did you flinch? Now you've burned her."

I stared at the raw line of blisters spreading across my arm, the pain coming in waves.

So it turned out I was the one who flinched, and that was why Sarah got burned.

He didn't even ask if I was hurt.

Phil pulled a napkin and tossed it onto the table in front of me.

"Just apologize and we're done. Don't make a scene."

His voice was thick with impatience.

As if I were the one being unreasonable.

Ten years.

I'd stood by him for ten whole years.

From our school uniforms to a wedding gown, all we were missing was the ceremony.

And yet, in ten years, I'd never once managed to matter more to him than this "dear sister" of his.

The sting on my arm was nothing next to the cold spreading through my chest.

It wasn't worth it anymore.

Really.

I looked at him calmly, at the worry and the blame in his eyes.

None of it, not a trace, was for me.

Slowly, I slid the diamond ring off my finger.

He'd only proposed to me last month.

I had once thought it was the happiest moment of my life.

I set the ring on the table and pushed it across to him.

Metal met tabletop with a small, crisp click.

"Phil."

My voice was very calm.

Phil froze, as if it hadn't sunk in yet.

Even Sarah's crying stopped for a beat.

I stood and picked up my bag.

I didn't spare either of them another glance. I just turned and walked out.

The hot pot restaurant was as noisy as ever, but everything behind me felt like someone had hit mute.

At the door, I still caught Phil's voice.

He was coaxing her.

"All right, all right, stop crying. I'll make her apologize to you, okay?"

My steps faltered for a second.

Then, without looking back, I walked out into the rain.

That night I didn't go back to the home we shared.

The bridal home I'd spent a year decorating with my own hands, plastered with "double happiness" cutouts.

I called a moving company and hauled every last thing of mine out that same night.

My friend Joy Sullivan drove over to get me, and when she saw the state of me and my swollen arm, she cursed him up and down.

"Phil, that dog! Kayla, you put up with way too much! If it were me, I'd have dumped that whole pot of soup over both their heads!"

I didn't say anything. I leaned against the window and watched the street lights streak past.

Ten years of putting up with it. That was enough.

Joy settled me in at her place, then dragged me to the hospital to treat the wound.

The doctor said it was a second-degree burn, and if it wasn't treated in time, it would scar.

The gauze wound around my arm coil after coil, like a white shackle.

I didn't sleep all night.

At daybreak, I sent Phil my last message.

"Let's break up. I've moved my things out. I wish you and Sarah a long and happy life together."

Then I blocked him and deleted him.

All in one clean motion.