Chapter 1

The pain hit me like a truck, sharp and deep in my abdomen.

I doubled over on the plush carpet of the boutique hotel room in the Texas Hill Country.

"Kevin," I gasped, clutching my stomach.

He glanced up from his phone, annoyed.

"What now, Sarah? Can't you see I'm trying to find a good filter for this sunset pic?"

His concern was zero. We were supposed to be on a romantic weekend getaway.

"It's bad, Kevin. Really bad. I think I need a doctor."

He scoffed.

"You always think you need a doctor. It's probably just period cramps. Take some ibuprofen."

He turned back to his phone, dismissing me completely.

The pain intensified, stealing my breath. This wasn't cramps. This was a fire inside me.

"No, Kevin, this is different. I feel like I'm being torn apart."

I was sweating, my vision blurring.

He finally put his phone down, a frown creasing his perfectly curated Instagram face.

"Look, this hotel was non-refundable, Sarah. I'm not letting you ruin this weekend because you ate something weird."

His voice was cold, practical. All about the money, all about his inconvenience.

My heart sank. This was the man I was supposed to marry.

He walked over, not to help, but to peer at me.

"You're just being dramatic. Lie down. You'll be fine in the morning."

He actually patted my head, like I was a misbehaving child.

That was it. The switch flipped.

The pain was agony, but his selfishness was a different kind of wound, clearer, sharper.

"I'm not being dramatic," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the searing pain.

"I need to go to the ER."

He rolled his eyes.

"And how are you planning to do that? We're in the middle of nowhere. I'm not driving two hours to Austin just because you have a tummy ache."

His comfort, his plans, always came first.

I pulled myself up, using the antique dresser for support. Each movement sent jolts of pain through me.

"I'll call an Uber," I said, my phone already in my hand.

He laughed, a short, ugly sound.

"An Uber? Out here? Good luck with that. You're overreacting."

But the app showed a car, ten minutes away. A miracle.

I booked it.

Then I looked at him, this stranger I thought I knew.

"Kevin," I said, my voice flat, devoid of the affection I once felt. "We're done."

He stared, his jaw dropping slightly.

"What? Done with what? Don't be ridiculous."

"The engagement. It's off."

I focused on breathing through the pain, on staying upright until the Uber arrived.

His face twisted, not with concern for me, but with anger.

"You can't be serious! Over a little stomach pain? You're really going to throw everything away?"

"You prioritized a non-refundable hotel room over my health, Kevin. You think I'm faking agony."

I leaned against the doorframe, watching the app, the car getting closer.

"That's not a little stomach pain. That's a massive, gaping flaw in your character."

The Uber pulled up. I opened the door.

"Have fun with your sunset pictures," I told him, and walked out, leaving him standing there, finally speechless.

The ride to the ER was a blur of pain and dawning clarity. The engagement was a mistake. He was a mistake.