Chapter 3

For the rest of the evening, Evan and I had a tacit understanding.

I chatted with the class president about old times.

He and Madison were inseparable, whispering things only they could hear.

We didn't disturb each other, distant as strangers with no connection.

Even when leaving, we went separately.

I grabbed my bag and left the private room first.

Evan had driven, so he went to the parking garage first and brought the car to the hotel entrance.

Classmates trickled away. Evan opened the car door and carefully helped the tipsy Madison into the vehicle.

The entire time, he didn't glance at me once.

The class president was supporting the drunk Mr. Wallace. Seeing me staring at Evan's car, he laughed:

"Mia, stop looking. Evan's always been particular—he won't even look at people he doesn't like. I drove here too. I'll give you a ride later."

The class president meant well, so naturally I didn't refuse.

I nodded and followed him to his car.

Outside the window, streetlights lit up one by one, casting dim yellow circles on the asphalt like abandoned periods marking the end of sentences.

The class president turned down the AC and asked softly, "Cold?"

I shook my head, but my gaze followed the hotel's shrinking silhouette in the rearview mirror.

Suddenly I remembered the years I'd spent helping Evan build his business from nothing.

We'd lived in a basement apartment, splitting ten-dollar takeout meals between us.

The ring on my hand was from that time.

From a street vendor. Sixty-eight dollars.

He said he'd use this ring to forever remember the hardships I endured with him.

I remembered how, after making it big, he drove his new car and took me to the beach, promising:

"From now on, you're the only one who'll ever sit in my passenger seat."

And yesterday, on our fifth anniversary, he'd said apologetically:

"Mia, I've been unfair to you all these years. I'll never let you down in this lifetime."

Now it seemed he'd forgotten.

Only I had taken him seriously.

My phone suddenly buzzed—a message from Evan.

[Good job tonight, but the divorce excuse was too frivolous. Don't use it again.]

I laughed and exited our chat.

Of course I knew divorce wasn't frivolous.

But he didn't know I was serious.