Chapter 2

The next two weeks were a slow, grinding hell. The apartment became a cold war zone, filled with heavy silences and the low hum of resentment. He slept on the couch, claiming he needed space to think about my "trust issues."

He'd talk about our ten years together, not as a foundation, but as a debt I owed him.

"A decade, Ava. I've given you a decade. And you throw it all away because of your insecurity."

I tried to talk to Maya, my best friend. We were having coffee on South Congress.

"He's gaslighting you, honey," she said, her eyes sharp and angry on my behalf. Maya was a PR executive, married to a tech millionaire. She knew manipulation when she saw it. "Remember freshman year? How he'd charm his way out of everything? He's just gotten better at it."

I remembered. I remembered a boy with a chip on his shoulder, desperate to escape his working-class roots. I remembered falling for his ambition, his intensity. I didn't see the insecurity underneath it all.

"But ten years, Maya," I whispered, the words tasting like ash. "That's a huge sunk cost."

"It's not a cost, it's an investment that went bad," she said, squeezing my hand. "Cut your losses before he bankrupts you completely."

I knew she was right, but the thought of ending it was terrifying. He was all I had left of my old life, the life before the accident. He was there in the hospital after. He held my hand when the doctor told me I'd never conceive. He was my anchor. Or so I believed.

The night of our tenth anniversary arrived without celebration. I'd bought two VIP passes to the Austin City Limits festival months ago. They were supposed to be his big gift. They sat in a drawer, a painful reminder of plans that would never happen.

I made one last effort. I put on a dress he liked, cooked his favorite pasta, and waited.

He came home late, not even glancing at the table. He just dropped his briefcase and went to the bedroom.

I followed him. "Liam, can we please talk?"

He turned, his face a cold, indifferent mask. "I'm tired, Ava."

"It's our anniversary," I said, my voice cracking.

He actually scoffed. "And? After the stunt you pulled with Chloe, you expect me to celebrate?"

That was his new tactic. Everything was my fault. My paranoia, my jealousy.

"I love you," I said, a desperate, final plea. "We can fix this."

He looked at me, and for a fleeting second, I saw a flicker of the boy I once knew. A hint of guilt in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"I can't do this anymore," he said, his voice flat. He offered a transactional solution. "Look, I'll pay for you to see a therapist. Clearly, you need help."

"A therapist?" I was stunned. "You think this is my problem?"

He started using my full name, a thing he only did when he wanted to create distance, to make it formal and final. "Ava Marie Thompson, we're not kids anymore. This drama is exhausting."

"Drama? I sacrificed my dream of having a family for you, for us!" I shouted, the words I'd held back for so long finally erupting. "Because you said you didn't care, that I was enough. Was that all a lie?"

He didn't answer. He just packed a bag.

"Where are you going?" I asked, my voice hollow.

"To a hotel. I can't be here right now." He walked past me, not even making eye contact.

He paused at the door, his back to me. "You know, you're so selfish. You always make everything about you. About your tragedy."

He left. The door clicked shut, leaving me in the silence.

I waited all night, staring at my phone, hoping he'd call, hoping he'd come back.

The message arrived at 3:17 AM. It was a long, self-pitying novel of a text.

"Ava, I've been thinking a lot, and I don't think I can do this. I'm not ready for the kind of commitment you want. It's not you, it's me. I'm broken. You deserve someone who can give you everything. Someone better than me. I'm sorry."

I stared at the screen, my fingers trembling. After ten years, he ended it with a text.

I typed back a single word.

"Okay."