Chapter 3

A memory surfaced, unbidden, from a few years ago. We were at a dinner party, and someone asked about Liam. Olivia had laughed, a light, dismissive sound.

"Oh, Liam," she'd said, squeezing my hand under the table. "He's just pure drama. He once told me if I ever truly left him for Ethan, he'd drive his car off a bridge. He's so pathetic, but what can you do? You have to humor him."

At the time, I'd felt a surge of protectiveness for her, pity for this sad figure from her past. Now, I saw it for what it was: a carefully crafted narrative to keep me docile, to make his continued presence in her life seem like an act of her charity, not her choice. I remembered him cornering me once at a Christmas party, his breath smelling of whiskey.

"You think you've won, don't you, science boy?" he'd sneered. "She'll get tired of your boring, stable life. She always comes back to me. I hope you break a leg."

The memory was so vivid it felt like a curse finally coming to fruition. I had brushed it off as drunken jealousy. I was a fool.

The day after my surgery, I lay in my hospital bed, my leg encased in a heavy cast, throbbing in time with my heartbeat. The world outside my window was gray and indifferent. I was trying to focus on the equations I was scribbling on a notepad, a desperate attempt to find order in a universe that had become pure chaos, when the door to my room flew open.

It was Olivia. She wasn't carrying flowers or a card. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide with an urgent, almost frantic energy that had nothing to do with my well-being. She rushed to my bedside, her gaze sweeping the room, not landing on me, but searching for something.

"Where is it?" she demanded, her voice sharp.

"Where is what?" I asked, my own voice flat and tired. "A get-well card? Don't trouble yourself."

"Don't be a smartass, Ethan," she snapped, her eyes finally locking on the small table next to my bed. "The ring. The engagement ring. Where is it?"

I stared at her, genuinely confused. My mind couldn' t process the request. Of all the things she could have said, of all the reasons she could have finally shown up, this was the one she chose. "The ring? Why would you possibly need the ring right now?"

Her jaw tightened. She avoided my eyes, looking at a spot on the wall behind me. "Liam... he needs it. He feels insecure. He needs a symbol, a promise that I'm with him, that what happened at the church was real. It's for his peace of mind."

A symbol. My grandmother's ring, the one I had given her as a promise of my entire future, was now a tool to soothe the ego of the man who had put me in this bed. The sheer, breathtaking audacity of it stole my breath. It was an insult so profound it transcended anger and landed somewhere in the realm of the surreal.

"You want to give my grandmother's ring to him?" I asked, the words coming out slowly, each one tasting like poison.

She finally looked at me, her expression hardening into one of pure selfishness. "Oh, don't be so dramatic. It's just a thing. It's not like it's worth that much anyway. It's old."

That was it. That was the moment the last, microscopic fragment of love I had for her died. It wasn't just the betrayal, the lies, or the abandonment. It was this. The casual, cruel dismissal of the one thing that had symbolized everything I thought we were.

Before I could react, she lunged for the bedside table. My belongings were in a small plastic bag, and the ring box was inside. Her fingers closed around it, and she yanked it free. Her movements were quick and decisive, the actions of a thief, not a fiancée. She had what she came for.