His blind accusation made me laugh out loud.

“Me, apologize? Why don’t you check the security cameras and see who really needs to apologize!”

I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t even bother to find out what happened before concluding that I had tried to push Serafina down the stairs.

“Serafina is sick, and she’s pregnant. Do you really think she would intentionally harm herself and her child?”

A flicker of panic crossed Serafina’s eyes.

“Forget it, Vincent. It’s normal for Eleanor to be angry with me. Let’s just go.”

But Vincent wouldn’t let it go.

“No. She has to apologize to you today!”

I stood my ground.

I would never admit to something I didn't do.

Serafina, worried that if this dragged on, Vincent might actually check the cameras and expose her, clutched her stomach and said she suddenly felt unwell.

Vincent’s furious expression instantly changed to one of concern. He scooped her up into his arms and rushed toward the emergency room.

I watched them go, a bitter taste filling my mouth.

Twenty years of companionship, five years of living together, and it didn't earn me a single ounce of his trust.

But at least I was awake now. I could still get out.

That day, Vincent didn’t come home again.

I figured he was busy taking care of the "unwell" Serafina.

On my last day, I mailed my final suitcase to the secret address in Nevada, leaving only a carry-on with me.

That evening, Vincent returned.

His face was still etched with anger.

“Serafina is still in the hospital. She’s sick, and the baby is high-risk. Even if you didn’t do it on purpose, couldn’t you just be the bigger person and let it go? Why do you have to be so petty?”

The bigger person?

I thought I had been incredibly generous.

I gave up the honeymoon destination that was supposed to be mine. I gave up the man who was supposed to be my husband so he could have a baby with another woman.

And now, I was giving up my place by his side to Serafina.

Vincent’s gaze fell on the big red circle on the calendar, and his expression softened a bit.

“Alright, we’re getting married tomorrow. I’m not going to fight with you.”

“After the wedding, you can go apologize to Serafina. Then, we’ll go to Greece for our honeymoon.”

“Have you planned the trip to Santorini yet?”

I didn’t answer.

If Vincent had been paying any attention, he would have noticed that the apartment had no wedding decorations, no atmosphere of joy.

“We…”

Before I could get the words out, his phone rang.

Serafina’s weak voice came through the line, and Vincent’s expression immediately tensed.

“Stay put. I’m on my way.”

After hanging up, he grabbed his jacket and rushed to the door.

“Serafina’s not feeling well. I’m going to check on her. I’ll be back before the ceremony. Just make sure you get to the church in the morning and wait for me.”

After the heavy sound of the apartment door closing, the words that had been stuck in my throat finally came out.

“Let’s break up, Vincent. The wedding is canceled.”

The sound dissolved into the vast, cold room.

Only the clock on the wall ticked on.

I sat in the living room from evening until dawn, watching the Chicago skyline change from pitch black to a pale gray.

My phone buzzed with a notification.

Two hours until my flight.

I stood up, went to the bedroom to get my packed suitcase, and then took out my Montblanc pen. I drew a large X over the heavily circled number ten on the calendar.

Below it, I wrote a single sentence.

“Vincent, we’re over.”

I placed the calendar in the most conspicuous spot in the middle of the living room, grabbed my suitcase, took one last look at the place I had called home for five years, and walked out the door to catch a cab to the airport.

Goodbye, Vincent Moretti.