Chapter 2

I stood at the window like I was punishing myself.

Watched Julian peel her sweater off, slow. Watched him kiss her like she was something precious. Their shadows tangled on the curtain. The yellow light didn't go out all night.

It was like watching myself bleed out in slow motion.

Three a.m. He finally texted.

sorry babe — stuck at the studio, deadline killing me. forgot to wish my wifey merry christmas

A money transfer. From your husband, with love.

I stared at the number. Cold. Mocking.

Back when we were new, Julian flew across continents for every holiday. I'd tease him for being clingy and he'd nuzzle into my neck and whine—

"A husband's supposed to be clingy, Will. Soon as I finish school, we're getting married. We're never doing this long-distance crap again."

Five years ago, he got his PhD. I asked when he was coming home.

He told me—almost shy about it—that a friend had hooked him up with a studio in Paris. He couldn't leave just yet.

Three years ago, I heard the studio was relocating Stateside. I asked when we were getting married.

He stammered. Said he'd just been offered a teaching gig at the École des Beaux-Arts. Couldn't pass it up.

The wedding got pushed. And pushed. And pushed.

I asked him once if there was someone else. After that, he started video-calling me every week like clockwork. Just to show me, he said.

But I scrolled back through our texts that night.

His last real reply was two weeks ago.

Everything after that? Me. Talking to myself.

I didn't take the money.

I typed: I'm flying out tomorrow. Spending Christmas with you.

Typing…

Typing…

Three hours later, he sent a cutesy sticker.

nooo babe don't do that to yourself, the flight is brutal. let's just facetime

He could've come clean. He chose to keep lying.

That told me everything.

I didn't give him time to think. Sunrise, I was at his door.

Julian opened it half-asleep, eyes barely focused. He didn't even look up.

"Just leave it on the table, man," he mumbled, waving toward the couch. He thought I was the doorman.

I followed his hand.

A pink lace nightgown. Crumpled across his couch. Twisted in places that made my stomach flip.

"Julian."

His spine snapped straight. His eyes opened all the way.

"Willow?"

I nodded.

The bedroom door creaked open behind him. Chloe drifted out in lingerie, rubbing one eye like a kid.

"Why are you guys being so loud—"

She saw me.

Julian went the color of paper. He yanked off his sweater and threw it over her like he could erase her by hiding the skin.

"Willow—she's my student. She had a fight with her boyfriend last night, like a real bad one, I didn't want her wandering around alone, so I let her crash—"

Chloe bit her lip. Looked up at me with those big wet eyes.

"It's so nice to finally meet you, Willow."

I nodded. My mouth wouldn't do anything else.

Julian made breakfast himself. The whole spread. Eggs, pancakes, fresh-pressed juice, the works.

Eight years.

He'd finally learned how to cook for a woman.

Just not me.

Chloe stood up first. Said she had class. Julian grabbed his keys.

I swallowed every scream sitting in my chest, slipped my arm through his, and smiled so hard my face hurt.

"Take me with you. I'd love to see the campus."