Chapter 1

This was the third time I had gone to City Hall with my boyfriend to sign our marriage papers, and his neighbor's daughter called him again.

He looked at me with hesitation, opening his mouth but saying nothing.

"Grace, can we do this next time?"

I stood there, looking at him coldly.

"The first time we came here, Chloe sprained her ankle, and you abandoned me to rush her to the ER."

"The second time, she said she couldn't turn off her stove, and you abandoned me again to go turn it off for her."

Before I could finish, my boyfriend interrupted me.

"This time is different. Chloe tore her finger on a broken press-on nail."

"If I'm not there to put a Band-Aid on it, she'll be in too much pain to bear."

With that, my boyfriend turned and ran, leaving me at City Hall once again.

Watching his retreating figure, I quietly threw my queue ticket into the trash can.

A marriage certificate that couldn't be signed... there was no need to sign it ever again.

I walked out of City Hall and took an Uber back to our apartment.

I took the elevator up to the 17th floor, stood in front of our future home, and pressed my finger against the scanner.

The screen flashed red: Fingerprint not recognized.

I tried again. Red again.

I typed in the passcode. My birthday, six digits, the one we had used for ten years.

"Incorrect passcode."

I tried his birthday.

"Incorrect passcode. Two attempts remaining."

I pulled my hand back.

He had stood me up on our wedding registration day, yet he had remembered to change the door code.

The hallway was dead silent, the blue indicator light on the lock blinking steadily.

I leaned my back against the wall, a wave of coldness creeping up my spine, inch by inch.

The elevator dinged.

Carter walked out, with Chloe hovering half a step behind him.

She had a pink Hello Kitty Band-Aid wrapped around her left index finger. Her acrylic nails were completely intact.

"Where did you run off to?" Carter's first words weren't an apology.

"I called you six times. You didn't pick up once."

He frowned. "Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

Chloe peeked out from behind him, her voice soft and sweet.

"Carter, is Grace mad at us? It's all my fault... I shouldn't have asked for your help..."

She waved her Band-Aided finger right in front of his eyes.

Carter immediately turned to her. "It's not your fault, Chloe."

Then he turned back to me, his tone softening slightly.

"She's just clumsy. A broken piece of her nail scratched her finger, so I helped her put a Band-Aid on it. It's a tiny thing."

I didn't reply. I squeezed past them and stood in front of the door.

"What's the code?"

"...352716."

The door opened. I walked straight to the bar cabinet.

On the top shelf sat a bottle of vintage whiskey, its label yellowed and curling at the edges.

He had bought it ten years ago, saying we would open it on our wedding day.

I took it down.

"What are you doing with that?" Carter followed me into the living room.

"You said we'd drink it on our wedding day."

"Yeah, so put it back," he said.

I turned the bottle upside down.

The amber liquid splashed onto the carpet, soaking into the fabric instantly, leaving a wide, dark stain.

The entire living room filled with a sour, fermented smell that clung to the air.

"Grace!" He rushed over to grab the bottle, but it was already empty.

The last few drops fell from the rim, landing on his shoes.

"Are you losing your mind?"

"Carter, this was our third attempt to get married."

"I told you, Chloe needed me!"

"It's not going to make it to that day."

I set the empty bottle on the coffee table.

His face flushed red, a vein pulsing at his temple.

"You're being completely unreasonable," he spat out. He turned and headed toward the foyer.

Chloe stood there, tugging at her sleeve, her eyes darting toward me.

"Chloe, come inside and rest. Don't mind her."

He put a hand on Chloe's shoulder, guiding her into the master bedroom.

The door shut. The living room was left with only the whiskey stain and the sour smell.

I went into the study and opened the drawers. My ID, passport, property deed copies.

I took them out, one by one, and stuffed them into my canvas tote.

My phone buzzed.

An Instagram update from Chloe.

It was a photo of our master bedroom bed. In the top-right corner, a dark gray suit jacket hung over the back of a chair.

Captioned with a smiling sun emoji.

Posted three minutes ago.

I closed Instagram and opened my contacts.

Carter Hayes.

I swiped left and hit delete.

I opened Snapchat, went to our chat, scrolled to the bottom, and blocked him.

My screen went back to the chat list. His avatar was gone.

I zipped up my canvas tote and placed my phone face down on the desk.

The drawers were empty.

The bar was empty.

And my contacts were empty, too.