Chapter 4

The next morning I was curled up in the hotel bed when my phone buzzed me awake.

"Good morning, Miss Barnes. The birthday cake you ordered will be ready for pickup at three this afternoon. Also, the ring you tucked into the hidden layer... would you like us to check that it's secured properly?"

I held the phone and, for a moment, felt strangely blank.

Today was my birthday.

I'd rehearsed it in my head a thousand times. The candles flickering, me cutting into the slice that hid the ring, smiling as I asked him:

"Oliver, I'm giving you myself and all the years I have left. Will you take them?"

Back then I'd thought, if his proposal wasn't coming, then I'd do it myself.

It didn't matter who asked, did it?

As long as it ended with us.

But now the whole thing struck me as absurd, like something out of a farce.

"Never mind."

"Throw out the cake and the ring."

I hung up. The phone buzzed again.

A message from Jeanette, with a video attached.

【Anita, you probably still don't know—the medical assault that ruined you back then wasn't an accident.】

My fingers trembled as I tapped it open.

On screen, Oliver swirled a glass of wine, his voice coming through clearly:

"The attacker was a good find. Convincing enough."

"That right hand of hers was basically finished after that. Otherwise, knowing her, why would she ever have been content to stay by my side and cook?"

"You're a genius, Oliver."

Another voice chimed in.

"One staged assault, and now she can't leave you, and she's grateful on top of it, thinks you saved her. Worth every cent."

The video cut off there.

I stared hard at the screen.

That assault had ruined the right hand I'd been so proud of.

All those nights I'd wept, despaired, and then, because of one line from him—"I'll take care of you"—found hope again.

So it had all been his doing.

Right after, the second message popped up:

【Oh, and that overseas treatment the director lined up for you three years ago? Oliver "declined" it for you long ago too. He said if you got cured, you'd fly away.】

I stared at that line, lifted a hand to cover my mouth, and a stifled sob broke from my throat.

He'd dragged me down from the clouds, ground me into the mud, then held out a hand with all that false kindness so I'd cling to it in gratitude.

And then told me: "See? I'm the only one who'll have you."

And I'd loved him, honestly loved him, for eight years.

The phone buzzed again.

【Anita, the pitiful one was never me!】

I flagged down a car to the hospital.

The director sighed. "Anita, at the time it was your partner, Mr. Henson, who came in to sign and respond. He said your emotions were unstable, that you wanted to recover at home. He also said... you'd already accepted things and didn't want to put yourself through more."

I closed my eyes for a moment.

So it was all true.

"And what if I want to go now?"

I opened my eyes. "Is there still time?"

The director took a folder out of a drawer and handed it to me. "Let me make some calls for you."

"Anita, your talent shouldn't be buried here. As long as there's a sliver of hope, you shouldn't give it up."

I held the folder to my chest, pushed the door open, and walked out.

The elevator reached the ground floor, and when the doors opened, two people were standing outside.

Jeanette saw me and her eyes curved into a smile. "Anita, you're at the hospital too?"

"Anita? Why are you here?"

Oliver's eyelids lifted, then he frowned.

"You didn't follow me all the way here, did you? Can't you try something new for once?"

I said nothing.

Jeanette leaned a little closer to his side.

"Anita, I'm pregnant."

The hallway went quiet for a beat.

Oliver didn't deny it. He just watched me, waiting for me to fall apart, to cry and scream, to demand why with red-rimmed eyes the way I had countless times before.

But I only looked at them, calm.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth, my voice light and airy.

"Congratulations."

"I hope you two get locked together for good."

Oliver clearly hadn't expected that reaction. For the first time, a crack showed on his face.

"Anita, you—"

He took a step forward without thinking.

But I had already turned, brushing past him.

"Oliver." I said it without looking back. "We're done."

By the time I reached the airport, my phone buzzed.

Oliver's message appeared:

【Anita, I didn't forget it's your birthday today. I booked a restaurant for tonight. We need to have a proper talk.】

How long had it been since he called me that.

Before, every time we fought, all he had to do was say "Anita, love," and I'd soften and come back.

He knew better than anyone what that name meant to me, and so even now, he was still using it.

I turned the phone off, buried it at the bottom of my bag, and walked into the security line.

Every birthday from now on, I'd spend on my own.