I forced down the bitter chamomile tea, looking around the apartment I’d so carefully decorated, and marked another day off the calendar.
14 days left.
Then I started the methodical process of packing and cleaning.
Brookshire and Eastbrook were at opposite ends of the country, and I couldn’t take much with me.
Whatever I couldn’t pack, I tossed.
I couldn’t stand the thought of someone else – especially Nathan’s next girlfriend – going through my things.
After two trips to the dumpster, exhaustion hit. The rest would have to wait.
Fresh from my shower, I saw Nina’s social media post.
“CEO by day, standing in line for my favorite cake by night. He says he wants to make up for all our lost time. Couldn’t be happier!”
The photo showed a strawberry cheesecake, but what caught my eye was the men’s watch loosely draped around her wrist – the match to mine.
We’d bought those matching watches after pulling several all-nighters to land the company’s first major client.
That deal had put us on the map.
Despite running on almost no sleep that week, he was ecstatic. He dragged me to the mall and bought these watches I’d been secretly admiring.
I protested at the expense.
But he insisted, sliding it onto my wrist before pulling me close. “Hannah,” he’d said earnestly, “everything you want, I need to give you myself.”
That watch never left his wrist except for showers or sleep.
He’d even fired his last assistant for accidentally water-damaging it.
Everyone thought Nathan was devoted to me.
Looking back now, I thought it was laughable.
No one realized that all those loving gazes he gave me were really meant for someone else.
With a heavy sigh, I unclasped the watch, snapped a couple photos, and listed it for sale online.
Nathan didn’t come home again that night.
The next day, I slept until noon before heading to the office to resign.
Since the company had stabilized two years ago, I’d focused solely on heading the design department.
Several people stopped to congratulate me when I was walking from Design department to HR.
Confused, I was pulled into an office by Linda Clark from HR. “Spill it – are you and Nathan finally getting engaged?”
“What?”
I was blindsided.
As a company veteran, Linda didn’t mince words. “Come on! It’s obvious – Nathan’s making such grand gestures, everyone knows he’s planning to propose!”
I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
She covered her mouth. “You really don’t know? Could Nathan be planning a surprise…?”
“Explain. Please.”
“Well…” She hesitated, then leaned in conspiratorially. “Someone saw the florist delivering flowers to Nathan – the whole car was packed with pink roses! It’s not your birthday or anniversary, so what else could it be but a proposal?”
Pink roses.
Two months ago, when Nina arrived in Brookshire, Nathan had bought pink roses to welcome her at the airport.
My fingers curled into my palm.
I stayed silent. Linda glanced at the papers in my hand. “What’s that?”
“My resignation.”
“Of course!” She beamed. “For the engagement, right? Ready to be the perfect wife. Here, let me sign that.”
“Thanks.”
I didn’t correct her, just handed over the documents.
She signed while grumbling, “Nathan should have given me a heads up. Where am I supposed to find another Design Director like you on such short notice?”
“Just get Nathan’s signature and it’s done.”
She returned the papers, saying warmly: “Hannah, I don’t know if choosing family life is the right call, but as your friend of many years, I wish you all the happiness in the world! I hope Nathan gives you everything you deserve.”
“I will be happy.”
Just not with Nathan.
