Chapter 2

"Why didn’t you reply to my texts today?"

Carter’s voice came through the receiver, carrying his usual, perfectly measured tone of concern.

I had been sitting on the plastic bench in the clinic lobby for forty minutes. The seat was ice-cold, and the metal armrest behind my back felt even colder.

"My phone was on silent. I didn't notice."

"Where are you? It sounds noisy."

"Just at the mall, walking around."

He let out a soft chuckle. "Buy whatever you want. I’ll transfer you the money on PayPal."

"Okay," I said.

After hanging up, I placed the phone screen-down on my lap.

The lobby speakers kept announcing numbers, calling patient after patient to various departments.

I listened for forty minutes. I didn't hear the word "OB-GYN" again, but those letters were already burned into my brain.

OB-GYN.

I started tracing back through our relationship.

Nine months ago, we met on a blind date set up by our families. Carter was eight minutes late. The moment he sat down, he ordered a hot Americano for me.

He said, "I saw on your Instagram that you posted a latte with foam art. It's ninety-six degrees today, so you probably wanted an iced coffee. But drinking iced coffee on a first date might seem too casual. So, hot Americano is the perfect compromise."

At the time, I thought he was incredibly observant.

Now, I realized he wasn't observant—he was just calculating.

Three months into dating, he took me to meet his parents.

His mother, Eleanor, looked at me over the dinner table not as a future daughter-in-law, but like a customer comparing two similar brands on a supermarket shelf.

She said something that stayed with me: "Carter has always been independent. I don't interfere with his choices."

The emphasis was on the word "choices".

A choice, not love.

I thought I was being paranoid back then. But sitting on this hard clinic bench, I finally understood—she was telling me that I was just a choice he made, but I wasn't necessarily the only one.

My phone buzzed again. Carter sent a three-second voice message.

I tapped it. He said with a warm smile, "I miss you."

Three words. His tone was as steady as if he had rehearsed it a thousand times.

I locked my phone, stood up, and walked out of the clinic. I took an Uber home.

The first thing I did when I got back was open the jewelry box on my nightstand.

My Nana’s diamond earrings were still there. They were clip-ons because Nana always said, "Earlobes sag when you get old. Clip-ons can be taken off anytime."

I clenched the earrings in my palm. The metal clips dug into my skin, causing a dull ache.

Then, I made a decision—I wouldn't confront him yet.

Not because I was hesitating, but because I needed to figure out one thing.

In this relationship, who exactly was I?

Was I really his fiancée, or just a prop in someone else’s story?

At 7:00 PM, Carter arrived. He brought takeout and a bouquet of baby's breath. He never showed up empty-handed.

"You're quiet today," he said, looking at me while unpacking the food.

"Toothache."

"Then don't smile too big during the photoshoot on Saturday. I don't want you in pain." He transitioned seamlessly, his expression tender and his logic flawless.

I kept my head down, my fork hovering over a piece of steak for half a second.

"How do you always have the perfect response to everything?"

"Because you don't even have to think about the words you say. They are like pre-packaged meals. You just heat them up and serve them."

When he went to take a shower, I picked up his phone.

There was no passcode.

He was confident enough not to set one—not because he had no secrets, but because he was absolutely certain I would never snoop.

Three chats were pinned at the top of his iMessage: me, his mom, and someone named "Audrey."

The last message from Audrey was sent at 2:00 PM today: "The checkup went well. The baby is healthy. Waiting for you."

It was accompanied by an ultrasound photo.

I scrolled up.

Audrey's profile picture was a side profile of a girl with a tiny mole on her collarbone.

There were too many messages, so I only scrolled through the past month. Within three minutes, I discovered three things.

She called him "babe," and he called her "my sweet Audrey." The way they talked was completely different from how he talked to me—it was softer, more casual, more genuine.

Three days ago, he had texted her: "Just wait a little longer. I'll break it off with her right after the wedding photoshoot."

"Her."

I was that "her."

The sound of running water continued in the bathroom. I took screenshots of three key conversations, emailed them to myself, deleted the screenshots and the sent mail trail, and placed the phone back exactly where it was.

By the time he came out, I was curled up on the sofa watching a home renovation show.

"What do you think of this color palette? We should do our house like this."

"Looks great," he said, smiling as he rubbed his wet hair with a towel.

I smiled back.