Chapter 1

Introduction

37 days after Ethan and I got back together, I found out we had just over $2,000 left of the money we'd saved for our wedding and a house.

He'd sent more than one hundred twenty thousand dollars to his first love, who was in the middle of a divorce.

"Her husband hit her. You're a woman too. You should understand."

The first time we broke up, I cried. I kept demanding answers. I waited up all night for him to come home. I lost about 16.5 pounds, and my heart raced every time my phone lit up. My therapist asked me, "Do you really love him, or can you just not stand being left?"

I couldn't answer.

So this time, when we got back together, I gave myself 60 days.

No checking his phone. No fighting. No relying on a wedding to make me feel secure. Just keeping track of the choices he actually made.

Ethan thought I'd finally "matured."

He didn't know that before day 60, I'd already accepted a job in London.

He also didn't know that on the day he planned to propose, I'd be getting on a plane out of Chicago.

37 days after Ethan Shaw and I got back together, I saw that our joint account was down to $2,100.

Six months earlier, we'd gone over the numbers together in our apartment in River North. Down payment, wedding, moving costs, emergency fund. Ethan had color-coded every number in a spreadsheet. He said once the account hit one hundred fifty thousand dollars, we'd start looking at houses. The wedding could be simple, but we had to have a home of our own.

That day, I'd even teased him for being such a numbers guy.

Now one hundred twenty-seven thousand dollars was gone.

When Ethan got home, I showed him the account balance.

He paused for all of two seconds, then took off his coat. "Olivia's divorce case has stalled. Lawyer's fees, rent on a short-term place, and deposits are all piling up, and she's short on cash. I'm lending her the money for now."

"Lending?"

"Once the property's divided, she'll pay us back."

I looked at him. "That money belongs to both of us."

"Claire, her husband hit her. You're a woman too. You should understand how hard things are for her right now."

I knew that line too well.

For the past six months, whenever Olivia Reed showed up, Ethan had always found a reason why her needs were more urgent than mine.

If she got scared at night, he had to go keep her company.

If she had no one to help her move, he went to help.

If she was too scared to meet her lawyer alone, he took time off to go with her.

Before our first breakup, I'd cried over these things and fought over them. I'd even chased him to Olivia's apartment building at two in the morning.

Since we'd gotten back together, I'd hardly ever fought with him.

I only asked, "Why didn't you tell me before you sent it?"

Ethan visibly relaxed.

"I knew you'd understand."

He came over to hug me, and he even sounded a little pleased. "Guess that breakup wasn't such a bad thing. You're so much more mature than before."

I stood in his arms and didn't hug him back.

He didn't know the breakup hadn't made me more mature.

It had made me see, for the first time, how dependent I'd become on him. Being without him had felt almost like withdrawal.

I started seeing a therapist. I couldn't eat or sleep, and the first thing I did every morning was check whether he'd added me back.

Dr. Rachel Moore had asked me, "Do you really want to stay with him, or can you just not stand being left?"

I couldn't answer her.

So 37 days ago, when we got back together, I gave myself a deadline.

60 days.

I wouldn't check his phone. I wouldn't make excuses for him. I wouldn't pick fights for attention, and I wouldn't rely on a wedding to reassure myself.

I'd just keep track of the facts.

After 60 days, if I still wanted to marry him, I'd stay.

If I didn't, I'd leave.

Today was day 37.

I typed one line into the notes app on my phone.

[Joint savings transferred without my consent.]

Then I looked up. "Okay. Got it."

Ethan smiled.

He thought I'd forgiven him one more time.

Olivia lived in the building right next to ours.

Ethan had even found the place for her.

He said the neighborhood was safe and close to the train, and he could lend a hand if anything really happened.

At nine p.m., he headed out with a bag of trash.

Before our first breakup, that alone used to drive me crazy.

Because I'd later found out that his "quick trip to take out the trash" often meant carrying bottled water up to Olivia's apartment, fixing her router, having a drink with her, or even staying into the early hours.

Tonight he got to the door and looked back at me.

"The building group chat says some strange guy's been hanging around."

"Mm."

"Might be one of her ex's guys."

"Mm."

He frowned. "That's all you've got to say?"

I closed my laptop.

"Why don't you just stay at her place tonight? Save yourself the trip back and forth."

Ethan's expression changed instantly.

"Claire, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said."

"I thought you'd really changed."

He was holding back his anger. "We've only been back together a little over a month, and you're already doing the passive-aggressive thing again?"

I looked at him.

"Ethan, I'm not mad."

That only made him more uncomfortable.

Right then, his phone rang.

Olivia's special ringtone.

He'd once explained that he'd set a special ringtone for her because she could be in danger at any moment during the case.

I didn't ask about it again.

Ethan answered, listened for a few seconds, and grabbed his car keys.

Before he left, he stopped again.

"Tomorrow she's finishing up the paperwork with her lawyer. The day after, she's going to London to stay with her aunt.

"Once she's gone, we'll get the money back, and then we'll get married.

"Claire, trust me one more time."

Before, hearing the word "married" used to flip some kind of switch in me.

No matter how hurt I was, I'd swallow it without thinking.

But this time, the first thing that came to mind was another line Dr. Moore had asked me to write down.

[A promise can't cover up what's already happened.]

I nodded.

"Okay."

The door closed.

I opened my laptop again.

What was on the screen wasn't a wedding plan.

It was a formal job offer from a climate data company in London.

The sender was Julian Hart.

He'd been an upperclassman on our college debate team.

After he started his company, he'd asked me over and over if I wanted to join.

I'd always said Ethan and I were saving for a house and I didn't want to leave Chicago.

This time, I clicked accept.

Start date: three weeks from now.