Three months before the wedding, I saw the gown in his studio. The one he had designed himself.

My heart swelled with joy. Xavier Roth was once a world-class bridal designer.

A single one of his custom gowns was worth a fortune, but a hand injury had forced him into retirement years ago.

Just when I thought this was his special surprise for me…

I saw his protégée wearing that diamond-encrusted wedding dress on the runway.

She had replaced me as Xavier's exclusive muse.

My friend called to comfort me, but I told her calmly not to worry.

This time, I wasn't fooling myself anymore.

I just quietly snapped a picture of the dress I had once dreamed of and posted it to my feed.

[Goodbye, ten years. Goodbye, wedding dress.]

…

When Xavier came home, I was flipping through old photographs.

He was possessive and never let anyone else take pictures of me.

Most of these photos were ancient.

So old that I had almost forgotten I was once a glamorous model.

He saw the photos, and his gaze faltered.

“An old friend begged me for a favor. I had no choice but to design again and put on a show.”

Then, he pulled out a ring box. “Surprise. This was his payment to me.”

He gently took my hand, but from my thumb to my pinky, the ring was either too big or too small.

The atmosphere grew delicate.

I pulled my hand back. “It’s okay. I love the ring. It’s the thought that counts.”

Xavier’s lips thinned, a flicker of surprise in his evasive eyes.

He looked like he wanted to say something more, expecting me to get angry, to question him.

Before, whether it was about the fashion show or the ring, I would have grilled him for details.

Even I thought I would react that way, with a hysterical interrogation or an irrational outburst.

But I didn't. I was surprisingly calm.

All my energy had been drained the moment I saw that dress.

The gown I had pored over with him on his design sketches, the one I thought would be his surprise for me, or the finishing touch to our wedding.

At the very least, I thought that dress would be mine.

But it wasn't.

It was worn by the show’s final model, Xavier's protégée, Sophie.

The theme of the collection was "Adorned in the Name of Love."

During a backstage interview, Xavier had said, "This is a work of my heart, a gift for the one I love."

He waited for Sophie to come off the stage, and they posed for intimate photos, arm in arm.

The audience was filled with envy. “A gown poured from the heart can only truly bloom on the one he loves.”

I watched from the crowd, separated from them as if in another world.

Today was Xavier's birthday. I’d heard from a friend that he was going to an exhibit, and I planned to surprise him and have dinner together.

In the end, I walked into the gallery alone and left alone.

Passing by the trash cans downstairs, I threw away the cake and the gift.

I went home to look at old photos, to taste the sourness of our spoiled love.

As I looked through the pictures a second time, Xavier gripped my wrist.

“Sienna. Today is my birthday.”

My expression was flat. “Oh. Happy birthday.”

He frowned and held out his hand, but I just stared at him, confused.

A flash of hurt crossed his face.

“If you forgot, a hug would be a fine substitute.”

He opened his arms and walked toward me.

He had always been a good partner, always careful not to embarrass me, always offering a way out of an argument.

I used to be hopelessly in love with his sensitive, considerate nature.

But now, smelling the scent of our shared body wash on him, I covered my nose.

The scent was so familiar that the cloying notes of a woman’s perfume hiding underneath were sharp and offensive.

I stepped back, dodging his embrace.

“I’ll make up for the gift tomorrow. Let’s just skip it for tonight.”