Chapter 6

Jaime' s hand on her waist was a brand, a declaration of ownership. The matching shirts weren' t just a joke; they were a statement. His arm, her smile, the easy intimacy between them-it all screamed of a thousand moments I hadn' t seen.

Kendal pushed him away, her movements frantic. "Jaime, stop. It' s not what it looks like."

Her voice was a panicked whisper. Her eyes darted around, full of a desperate need to control the situation, but there was no fear in them. Not the fear of losing me.

I took a step back as she reached for me, her touch suddenly repulsive. My voice was a low, cold thing. "Don' t."

I felt nothing. Not anger, not jealousy. Just a vast, hollow emptiness. The part of me that could feel pain for her was gone, carved out by a decade of betrayals. How many times had she brought men back here? To our bed?

"I' m going to sleep in the study," I said, my voice trembling slightly, the only sign of the storm raging inside me. "I made you chowder. It' s on the stove."

I turned and walked away, not giving her a chance to reply. I closed the study door behind me, the click of the latch a final, definitive sound.

She didn' t follow. I heard her whispering with Jaime, then the front door closing. I fell onto the small couch, too exhausted to even feel.

Sometime in the middle of the night, the study door creaked open. Kendal slipped in, wrapping her arms around me from behind.

"Brock, I' m sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with a guilt that felt practiced. "I promise, it will never happen again."

My body was rigid in her arms. I didn' t respond.

"I ate the chowder," she said, trying to sound cheerful. "It was delicious. Thank you."

I just closed my eyes. "It' s over, Kendal."

Her birthday had passed. Our time was up.

In the days that followed, she became clingy, desperate. She followed me around the apartment, wore the clothes I liked, suggested we go to a friend' s wedding that weekend. It was all a performance, a frantic attempt to rewind time.

At the wedding, she insisted we wear matching outfits. She held my hand, smiling for the cameras, playing the part of the devoted girlfriend.

"You two are perfect together," an old college friend said, clapping me on the back. "From high school sweethearts to the power couple. When' s the big day?"

"Soon," Kendal said, beaming, squeezing my hand. "I' m planning the most incredible wedding."

I just smiled, a hollow, meaningless gesture.

Then, a stir at the entrance. A wave of whispers rippled through the crowd.

I saw him. Jaime Hodge. He was the groom' s cousin. Kendal' s "white moonlight," the one she' d supposedly never gotten over. The man whose picture she had used as her phone background for the first year we were together, claiming he was just a celebrity crush.

I looked at Kendal. Her eyes were locked on him, shining with an intensity I hadn' t seen in years. She had forgotten I was even there.

During the reception, she didn' t say a word to me. Her gaze followed Jaime everywhere he went. When someone offered her a glass of wine, Jaime smoothly intercepted, handing her a glass of orange juice instead. "You know you can' t handle your liquor," he said, his voice a low, intimate murmur.

She looked at him with pure adoration. The same look she had given me once, a lifetime ago.

I just sat there, methodically eating my food, the taste of betrayal like ash in my mouth.

"Why didn' t you get that for me?" she hissed at me later, her good mood soured.

"Because I can' t drink," I wanted to say. "Because I just had a cancerous tumor cut out of my body while you were sleeping with him."

But I said nothing.

After the reception, as we waited for the driver, she checked her phone, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Brock, I... something came up," she said, not looking at me. "You go on home without me."

"Are you lying to me again, Kendal?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.

She flinched, her eyes wide. She grabbed me, her arms wrapping around me in a fierce, desperate hug. "No, of course not. It' s an emergency. I promise, I' ll come straight home after."

She let go, and just then, Jaime' s car pulled up. She didn't even hesitate. She jumped in, waving a cheerful goodbye as they sped off.

I stood on the curb, watching the taillights disappear.

"There won' t be a next time," I whispered to the empty street.

This was the last time.