Chapter 1

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My boyfriend told me his company was putting him through a week-long, off-grid leadership retreat in the mountains. No phones allowed.

His retreat was supposed to end tomorrow. I decided to head over to his apartment tonight to give him a surprise.

But when I arrived, I realized someone was already inside.

He had always told me he lived alone.

The next second, a girl’s giggling voice drifted through the door. "Stop it, Ethan! Let me see your phone."

My hand froze in mid-air.

Then came his voice, laced with laughter. "No way. Besides, I didn’t even get your good side in that picture."

My entire body went rigid. I pulled out my phone and dialed his number.

He picked up, his tone smooth and affectionate. "Hey, babe. What’s up?"

"I’m standing right outside your door," I said. "Open up."

Inside the apartment, there was instant, dead silence.

I hung up the phone.

I reached into my bag and pulled out my key.

He had given me this key two years ago. Back then, he had said, "Keep it. Come over whenever you want. This place is going to be yours sooner or later anyway."

But I had never used it without telling him first.

I slotted the key into the lock, turned it, and heard a sharp *click*.

The door swung open.

The hallway light was on. Next to the shoe rack lay his sneakers—and a pair of women’s heels I’d never seen before.

I didn't step further inside. I just stood in the entryway.

From the living room came a frantic rustling of clothes and hushed, panicked whispers.

I took two steps forward.

A lilac dress, made of very little fabric, was tossed carelessly next to the couch.

A single lace sock lay on the floor nearby.

On the coffee table sat two wine glasses and a half-empty bottle of Cabernet.

And then, I saw them.

Ethan was scrambling up from the couch, frantically pulling up his pants. His button-down shirt was misaligned, and his hair was a messy nest.

The girl was cowering behind him, a fresh red mark visible on her shoulder.

I stopped right in the middle of the living room.

A cold thought popped into my head: *It was a good thing I called first.*

If I had just walked in, what would I have seen? Could it possibly have been more disgusting than this?

"Norah."

He finally spoke, his voice tight.

"What are you..."

"Wasn't your retreat supposed to end tomorrow?" I cut him off.

He froze. He had finally managed to zip his pants, but his shirt was still a wrinkled mess.

He looked down at himself, then looked back up at me. The expression on his face was hard to describe—like a thief caught red-handed, desperately trying to play it cool.

"I... I got back early," he stammered.

"Oh," I nodded. "Got back early to continue your 'training'?"

He shut his mouth.

The girl stepped out from behind him. Her head was lowered as she frantically grabbed her lilac dress and shoved her arms through the sleeves.

She looked young, with dyed light brown hair and a flush on her cheeks from the alcohol.

Her hands were shaking so violently she couldn't get the zipper up.

I stared at her.

She peeked up at me, then quickly averted her eyes.

"And who is she?" I asked.

Ethan opened his mouth, but only a few mumbled syllables came out. He went quiet again.

He stood there, fidgeting with his hands, before finally clenching them into fists at his sides.

The silence in the living room was suffocating.

The girl finally got her dress on, slipped into her white heels, and made a sharp tapping sound against the hardwood floor.

She glanced at him, then at me, and then rushed into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

*Bang.*

I stared at the closed door, then turned my gaze back to him.

"Talk to me," I said.

"Norah, I..."

He took a step toward me, then paused.

"I messed up. I'm sorry."

"I asked you who she is."

"Just a friend."

"A friend?"

He lowered his head, refusing to meet my eyes.

I let out a dry laugh. I didn't know if I was laughing at him or at myself.

Eight years. I had known him for eight years, and we had been together for all of them. From high school to college, and now into our professional careers. I thought I knew him inside out.

But I had never seen him look like this.

"It won't happen again," he said suddenly, looking at me with begging eyes. "Seriously, Norah. It was a one-time thing."

I said nothing.

Suddenly, he turned around and began frantically rummaging through the living room.

He tore open the drawer under the coffee table, checked the TV stand, and lifted the couch cushions.

I watched him, having no idea what he was doing.

A moment later, he pulled out a small red box.

He walked over and pressed it into my hand.

"I bought this for you," he said, his voice dropping low. "I was going to give it to you in a couple of days."

I looked down at the box.

It was a jewelry box with a designer logo printed on it.

I opened it. Inside was a silver necklace with a tiny star pendant.

It was beautiful.

I held the box, staring at it for a few seconds.

Then, I walked over to the trash can and tossed the necklace, box and all, right into the garbage.

"Norah!" he gasped.

"I don't want your trash," I said.

I turned to face him.

The expressions on his face shifted rapidly. He looked like he wanted to yell, but couldn't find the words.

Under the harsh ceiling light, his face looked completely foreign to me for the first time.

"We've been together for eight years," I said, my voice steady but cold. "And this is how you treat me?"

He hung his head, silent.

"Eight years, Ethan."

I repeated it.

"Eight years. From junior year of high school until now. I moved to this city for you. I brought you dinner at your office when you worked late. I took sick days to care for you when you were ill. When your mom was hospitalized, I was the one pulling overnight shifts bedside so you could sleep. I thought we were waiting to get married—waiting until we saved enough, waiting until we bought a place, waiting for things to settle down. What exactly were you waiting for?"

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