Chapter 1

Five years after the divorce, I ran into Ethan Cole at the men's department in Neiman Marcus.

The sales consultant was wrapping the tie I'd picked for my husband when Ethan walked over. Her tone instantly shifted, warm and enthusiastic.

"Mr. Cole, welcome back. Your custom suit is ready, just as your wife requested."

Ethan nodded politely, but his eyes lingered on the tie box in my hands.

"Put hers on my tab as well."

I declined with a polite smile and handed my credit card to the clerk instead.

He exhaled, almost a sigh. "Abby... after all these years, you still hate me, don't you?"

I gave a small smile. Said nothing.

Hate him? I didn't have the time. I'd let it go long ago.

I took the glossy shopping bag, slipped it into a reusable canvas tote stuffed with organic vegetables from the farmers' market, and turned to leave.

The early autumn wind swept through the parking lot, stirring up fallen leaves. As I walked towards the bus stop, the gusts sent my hair flying, momentarily blinding me.

When I brushed it aside, I saw Ethan's Lexus parked in front of me.

His brow furrowed as he noticed the redness in my eyes.

"Get in. I'll drive you."

"No, thanks. I'm taking the bus."

His gaze swept over me, then paused on the grocery-filled tote.

"Have you... been doing well these last few years?"

"I've been fine."

He didn't believe me.

"Come on. Let me give you a ride—for old times' sake."

Behind me, the bus screeched to a stop. But he didn't budge from the lane, blocking traffic.

With people staring, I had no choice but to get in.

"Millbrook Apartments," I told him.

The name sat heavy in the air. After a pause, his voice came out strained.

"Why are you living there? That place should have been torn down years ago. Especially for a woman like you, and with..."

He didn't finish.

But I knew what he wanted to say.

That was where my mother died. Ten years ago today, she'd refused to attend my wedding to Ethan, climbed to the rooftop of the ten-story building, and jumped.

The backseat was spacious, but the heater was turned up too high. I rolled the window down a notch.

"You always catch colds when you get cold. Better close it." He reached for the controls. "If it's too warm, I'll adjust the temperature."

I smiled and shook my head.

"Not anymore. I'm fine. Do what you like."

He didn't press further.

A few moments later, his phone rang.

"Babe? Did you get the suit? Where are you now?"

The voice piped through the car speakers—sweet, sugary, and cloyingly familiar.

"I got it. Just ran into Abby. Giving her a ride."

There was a pause on the other end.

"Abby's back? Oh my god, long time no see! You should've told me. We could've had dinner together. Why didn't you invite me?"

I'd known Sophie Hayes for more than fifteen years, but I had never heard her speak that way.

Back then, she was quiet, timid, devoted to her art. When someone stole her gallery spot, she just cried in secret.

It was me who stormed in with a baseball bat, smashed that girl's work in front of everyone, and anonymously reported the corruption to the art council. I got three days' suspension for it, but Sophie got her fairness.

Turns out, blind loyalty can transform a person.

"It was just a chance meeting. She's busy. I'll head straight home after this."

"Still, it was fate! We should all catch up—come on, one meal won't hurt."

"Sophie, that's enough."

Silence again.

Ethan was always gentle when he soothed people, but once he made a decision, no one could sway him.

Sophie knew that better than anyone.

The call ended abruptly just as we pulled up in front of my building.

"Thanks."

I stepped out after a courteous nod.

Ethan's gaze swept over the cracked pavement and aging structure. Then he called out to me.

"Abby... can I ask... who was the tie for?"

"My husband."

He rubbed his forehead with a bitter smile, like he thought I'd said it just to spite him.

"Same brand, same style. You used to buy those for me all the time, five years ago."

"So?"

I met his eyes, calm and unfazed.

"You don't have to pretend for my sake. After all this time, I just want to know you're okay. But this—this isn't okay."

What isn't?

The glass door reflected my image.

Athleisure outfit. Plain sneakers. A canvas tote full of groceries.

An ordinary woman trying to live an honest day.

But for someone who once wore designer gowns and diamonds, this version of me wasn't tragic at all.

I didn't get mad. I just smiled.

"I think I'm doing just fine."

His expression softened.

"Abby... you really have changed."

"Yeah. That's what people keep telling me."

I turned and walked into the building.

I didn't look back.