Chapter 1 Chapter 1

When I got back from my mom's funeral, it was pouring. Rain soaked through me, blurring my vision, and a heavy fog settled over my mind. My phone rang. I glanced at the screen, expressionless. "Orlando." The name brought a sharp, familiar ache. Orlando Reid and I had been together a decade. He was always distant, sometimes downright cold. I kept thinking that if I stayed, if I loved him hard enough, he'd finally let me in. But no amount of love could break through his wall of indifference. A week ago, I got the call that my mom had passed. Before she died, she worried about my future. She'd say, "Wren, you've been with Orlando so long, but he still hasn't talked about marriage. I know this might sound harsh, but I have to say it. "You two come from such different worlds. If Orlando really cherished you, I wouldn't be worried. But from where I stand, it's only you who's fully committed. "I'm scared you'll only end up hurt if you marry into his family." She wasn't wrong. I came from a small town. Orlando's parents were college professors. We were worlds apart. I tried to reassure her, saying his mom, Cordelia, didn't mind my background; she actually liked me. I told her Orlando was just busy with work and that we'd marry eventually. But how long would I be waiting? Deep down, I didn't know. Saying Orlando was "too busy" was just an excuse. Cordelia didn't care about my background; she only cared about what Orlando wanted. Once, I carefully brought up marriage with him. Rosalind Olson was there too and instantly scoffed, "Are you that eager to marry into Orlando's family and live the high life? No need to rush. If your mom needs money for treatment, Orlando can help out even if you two aren't married." Yes, my family was poor, but after college, I got a solid job at a gaming company with decent pay and benefits. I could cover my mom's medical bills by cutting corners and saving up. In all my years with Orlando, I'd never once thought of using his money. When he found out about my mom's illness, he came with me to see her and handed me a bank card with twenty thousand on it, saying to use it however I needed—and to let him know if I needed more. But he never mentioned marriage. Not once. Always feeling self-conscious about where I came from, I never brought up marriage again or touched his card. Instead, I waited for him to bring it up. I waited for years. And here we are. My dad had told me, "Your mom was in so much pain toward the end, barely coherent, but she kept whispering your name, worrying Orlando might let you down. "I know Orlando's busy, but can't you ask him to spare just one day to come to the funeral? "After all these years, she only met him once. It would've given her peace; call it her last wish." Panicked, I called Orlando. He answered with a curt, "I'm busy," and hung up. I kept calling, dozens of times, but he didn't pick up. Eventually, his phone went straight to voicemail. After college, he'd started a gaming studio, and as it grew, so did his excuses. Even though we lived in the same city, we sometimes went a month without seeing each other. If I didn't call or set up plans, who knew when we'd meet? Supposedly, we were dating, but it was always me reaching out. If he was free, he'd respond; if not, he wouldn't bother, and he never called back. I'd learned to accept it, telling myself he was just busy or in a meeting, so I tried to contact his assistant instead. It's ridiculous, really—I was dating Orlando, yet I talked to his assistant more than him. The assistant's voice had a hint of pity as he said, "Mr. Reid is currently busy. Maybe you can try again later." But I was too frantic to notice. On the bus home, I kept dialing his number with no luck. Then, scrolling through social media, I saw a post from Rosalind. She'd posted a picture. In it, Orlando had his arms around her, a faint smile on his face, while she held a massive bouquet of roses. The caption read: [Orlando canceled so much work to come to my graduation! He's the best! 🥰 And the roses he got me are gorgeous!]

Chapter 2 Chapter 2

Rosalind was the daughter of an old family that kept friends with the Reids and seven years younger than Orlando and me. She'd followed him around since childhood, practically glued to his side. Even their names sounded like a match, straight out of As You Like It. With her cute face and quirky personality, Rosalind was easy to like. I liked her too, at first, treating her like a kid sister. But after she "accidentally" spilled coffee on my dress, tossed out the gift I'd given her, and somehow broke the jade bracelet Cordelia had given me, I started to see through her charm. She had a quiet hostility toward me, just barely hidden. I mentioned it to Orlando, just a few casual complaints. But he frowned and scolded, "Wren, you're an adult. Why are you being so petty about a kid?" We were twenty then, and she was thirteen. She was just a kid, and I felt embarrassed, thinking maybe things would get better as she grew up. But I was so wrong. As Rosalind got older, her hostility became subtle, almost calculated. When Orlando and I went out on Valentine's Day, she'd tag along, wrapping her arms around him, cuddling up to him like I wasn't even there. Out with friends, she'd take a sip from his glass, leaving her lipstick mark on it. When I stayed over at the Reids', she'd spill something on her clothes, then wander around in one of his T-shirts like it was no big deal. Because of Rosalind, Orlando and I fought countless times. Well, "fought" might be a stretch—it was just me getting upset, over and over. I'd say, "She's sixteen, Orlando, not a little kid. She's old enough to know better. Don't you think it's weird how she clings to you?" Or, "I'm your girlfriend. Can you please stop sharing your glass with her and think about how that makes me feel?" Or, "She's not your sister. If she needs clothes, she can wear something of your mom's. I was her age when I first liked you—don't you think maybe her feelings go beyond friendship?" At first, he brushed it off, saying I was making a big deal out of "kid stuff." Later, he didn't say anything at all. The strain of it all wore me down. Many nights, I cried quietly into my pillow, promising myself I'd end things with him. But then Orlando invited me over for dinner, saying he had something important to discuss. Rosalind was there, too. And right in front of everyone, she apologized. "Wren, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you'd feel so misunderstood over these little things, given our age difference. I've only ever seen Orlando as a big brother—nothing more. If these things really bother you, I'll stop." Cordelia joined in, "Wren, please don't hold it against her. She's just a young girl, no harm intended. I should've taught them to be more thoughtful. I'm sorry this upset you." Cordelia was always kind to me. But whenever Rosalind was around, I couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't quite belong. After dinner, Orlando pulled me aside. "You're uncomfortable having Rosalind around, so she'll keep her distance when we're together. She won't interrupt our dates anymore." They all seemed so understanding, so mature. I was left feeling petty, like I'd made trouble over nothing. I felt embarrassed, out of place. But I didn't regret it—not if it meant getting some peace in my relationship. Orlando was remarkable, and I loved him deeply. I didn't want to let him go unless I truly had no choice. After that, Rosalind did stay away from our dates. But Orlando started spending less and less time with me, sometimes canceling at the last minute. I convinced myself it was work. Even though I felt let down, I didn't complain. I just reminded him to take care of himself and not overdo it. Then, six months ago, Rosalind's best friend cornered me outside my office, blocking my way out. She sneered, "Where do you get off, thinking you're a match for him? I'm here to set you straight, country girl." That's when I learned the truth: while I was nursing his mom through a fever, Orlando was out drinking with Rosalind, helping her "get over a breakup." When I was stressed and barely hanging on at work, he was off giving her "moral support" during her time of the month. And that wasn't even all. I'm not the kind to trust rumors. Even though it shattered me, I needed to hear it from him—just one honest conversation to get everything out in the open. But in the past six months, our time together kept shrinking, and when we did meet, it was always rushed. I could never seem to find the right moment to bring it up. And now...here we were. My mom had passed, and he wouldn't even pick up my calls—just so he could go to Rosalind's graduation ceremony. Seven days. A full seven days, with no call back, no message, nothing. He didn't once ask why I'd been calling so urgently. Had we really been together for ten years? Sometimes, it felt like maybe I'd imagined it all. Because how else could my boyfriend show so much concern for another woman and never spare a thought for me? *** Rain hammered down, soaking me to the bone. I wandered through it, clothes sticking to my skin, chilled straight through. A black Audi pulled up, and the door opened. Orlando stepped out, umbrella in hand. "Wren!" he called, standing under the umbrella. I ignored him and kept walking. Cold rain seeped into my shoes, the chill creeping up from my feet to my heart, tightening painfully in my chest. He walked over, took my hand, and held the umbrella over me, rain pouring down his own shoulders. His brow creased when he saw my drenched clothes. He turned, tugging me toward the car, but I didn't budge. He looked back, a hint of irritation on his face. "Why aren't you coming?" I'd called him dozens of times, and he hadn't offered a single explanation. Just silence, like always. He knew my pain—he just chose to ignore it. Because no matter how I handled it, whether with tears or calm words, I was always the one who backed down. Over time, he'd come to believe I had no boundaries left. A wave of exhaustion hit me. "Orlando, let's... break up."