Chapter 2

The second the design file vanished, my hand began to tremble.

It wasn't heartbreak. It was pure, sickening realization of how stupid I had been.

Five years. How on earth had I been this blind?

I stood up and surveyed the damp basement where I had spent half a decade.

Taped to the peeling wall was a Polaroid we took the day we moved in.

In the picture, I was smiling like an idiot while he held me close, promising that once we bought a house, he would frame this photo in the center of our living room.

I peeled the Polaroid off the wall and tore it straight down the middle.

His half went into the trash can.

My half went into my pocket.

Not as a keepsake, but as a permanent reminder never to be this pathetic again.

I began packing my bags.

I opened the closet to pull out my clothes.

Truth be told, there was barely anything worth taking.

Over the past five years, solely to save for that down payment, I rarely bought new clothes.

Most of my wardrobe was faded and worn, with the newest pieces being cheap twenty-dollar finds off Amazon.

He always promised that once he made real money, he’d spoil me with the best.

So I wore the same cheap winter coat through three freezing seasons.

Julian, on the other hand, owned several sharp designer jackets—all purchased with my year-end bonuses.

That black cashmere coat cost nearly six hundred dollars. I couldn't even justify buying something like that for myself.

Back then, I told myself that a man working in project management needed to look respectable, or people would look down on him.

I folded my few clothes neatly into a single suitcase.

Next came the bathroom: my toothbrush, my mug, my skincare products...

One by one, I scrubbed away every trace of my existence from this miserable room.

While clearing out the nightstand drawer, I found an old envelope.

I opened it. It was a letter my dad mailed me last winter.

Inside was a single handwritten line: *Sweetheart, Mom and Dad are always here. You can come home whenever you want.*

Back then, I thought my dad was just being stubborn and unsupportive, so I shoved the letter into the drawer without even reading the rest.

Staring at those words now, tears spilled from my eyes.

My parents ran a small mom-and-pop grocery store back in our hometown. We weren't wealthy, but they had never let me suffer a single hardship growing up.

Yet for Julian's sake, I had severed ties, shouted at them, and moved away.

For the past five years, outside of Christmas, I barely visited home.

Over the years, my parents stopped actively fighting my relationship.

They only asked quietly over the phone: "You two have been together for so long. When are you getting married?"

Every time, I repeated the same lie: "Next year. Julian and I will definitely have enough for a house and get married next year."

Next year turned into another next year.

Last year, my mom called and asked softly, "Honey, when are you actually getting married? Mom has already stitched together custom handmade quilts for your new home."

I told her, "Soon, Mom. Very soon."

My mom sighed and said, "Okay. Mom trusts you."

My parents trusted me unconditionally, yet I had spent five years deceiving myself.

I pulled out my bank card.

It was my salary account, but the balance was practically zero.

For five years, every time my direct deposit hit, I kept only three hundred dollars for my own monthly expenses and transferred every remaining dime to Julian.

He told me he was managing our portfolio in high-yield investment funds to earn better interest for our down payment.

I never questioned it.

Looking back, what investment portfolio? He was funneling my hard-earned sweat into another woman.

I grabbed my phone, preparing to text him to demand my money back.

After a beat, I set it down.

Whether it was the money or the five wasted years, we needed to settle this face-to-face.

Today was my birthday. The timing couldn't be more perfect.

My suitcase was packed. I sat on the edge of the mattress and waited.

At six-thirty, the deadbolt clicked.