Chapter 2

Jocelyn's POV

By the time I signed my own discharge papers and took a cab back to our Upper East Side apartment, it was nearly dark.

The apartment was dark and silent.

I changed my shoes and went straight to the kitchen for a glass of warm water. My throat was still swollen from the anaphylactic shock. Every swallow hurt.

When I opened the cabinet, my hand stopped.

Beside the matching mugs Ryan and I had bought together sat a pink ceramic cup covered in paw prints.

I stared at it for several seconds.

Then I looked down at the trash can beneath the island.

Inside was an empty box from Maison Kayser, the French bakery Sloane Harrington loved.

I walked to the entryway.

On the bottom shelf sat a pair of pink, fuzzy slippers. They were too small to be mine.

Ryan had always said Sloane was only like a younger sister to him. To prove he had nothing to hide, he had even given me his phone password.

I once thought that was honesty.

Now I understood. He had shown me the password so I would stop looking at everything else.

I opened Instagram.

I rarely checked Sloane's page. Every time I did, I felt sick. But that evening, I was strangely calm.

Her newest post had been uploaded two hours earlier.

In the photo, Sloane sat on our couch wearing Ryan's shirt. I recognized the navy one with the faint gray stripes. He had worn it on our last anniversary.

She held a mug of hot chocolate in both hands. Behind her was the living room I had decorated from scratch.

The caption read:

Whenever disaster strikes, my superhero shows up. Thank you for taking in this homeless girl and buying me my favorite macarons. I feel so lucky. #SafeHaven #LuckyGirl

I looked at the picture for a long time.

Then the front door opened.

Ryan stepped inside and froze when he saw me.

"Jocelyn? Why are you home? I was going to pick you up."

"The hospital was boring. I took a cab."

He stared at my face. "Are you feeling okay?"

Before I could answer, he took something from his coat pocket.

My engagement ring.

"The nurse called me," he said. "You left this behind."

He picked up my hand and slid the ring onto my finger.

"Be more careful next time. This isn't something you can afford to lose."

I looked at the diamond on my finger.

"Ryan, do you really want to marry me?"

His eyebrows drew together. "What kind of question is that?"

"Just answer me."

"Of course I do." His tone made it sound ridiculous that I had even asked. "We've been together for five years. I proposed to you. What else do you need?"

"Do you love me?"

He sighed.

"Jocelyn, you just went through a medical emergency. You're tired and emotional. Don't make this into something it isn't."

I stared at him. "You left me in the ER to help Sloane."

"Her apartment was flooding."

"You didn't even know whether I was safe."

"The doctor said you were stable."

"You weren't there when the doctor said it."

Ryan's face darkened.

"Why are you acting like this? Sloane had nowhere to go. Her clothes were soaked, and she was terrified. I couldn't just leave her alone."

I glanced at the pink mug and the slippers.

"She stayed here."

"For a few hours." He quickly added, "I already booked her a hotel. She left before I came home."

"And she wore your shirt."

"Her clothes were wet."

"She ate macarons."

"She was upset."

"Of course." I nodded. "Everything she does is an emergency."

Ryan rubbed his forehead. "You know what? I knew you'd be understanding. You're usually not this unreasonable."

He stepped toward me and leaned down, intending to kiss my forehead.

I turned my head away.

His lips stopped in midair.

For a moment, the room was silent.

Then he straightened and looked at me with disappointment.

"Are you angry with me?"

"No."

"Then why are you behaving like this?"

I met his eyes. "You always make the most 'reasonable' choice. I wouldn't want to interfere."

He relaxed immediately, as if my answer had satisfied him.

"That's my girl." He smiled. "To make it up to you, I booked a window table at Le Bernardin for tomorrow night."

Le Bernardin.

I had asked a friend to watch for an opening three months ago. I had wanted to celebrate our fifth anniversary there.

Ryan spoke as if he were offering me a generous gift.

"You've always wanted to go, right?"

"Yes."

"Then it's settled."

"Okay."

I turned and walked into the bedroom.

Maybe it would be our last proper goodbye.

The next evening, I put on a black velvet dress and did my makeup carefully.

In the mirror, I looked like a woman preparing for a negotiation, not a fiancée getting ready for her fifth anniversary.

At seven o'clock, Ryan called.

"Jocelyn, I'm really sorry—"

"Sloane again?"

There was a pause.

"Her cat died," he said. "The flooding traumatized it. Sloane is completely falling apart. The vet says she shouldn't be left alone."

"So you're canceling."

"We can celebrate tomorrow. Or this weekend. Jocelyn, she may hurt herself. I can't ignore that."

I looked out at the Manhattan lights.

"I waited three months for that table."

"I know. But this is a real emergency. You have to understand."

"I understand."

"You're not going to start a fight, are you? Her cat just died."

I closed my eyes.

"Ryan, you don't have to worry. I won't bother you again."

"What does that mean?"

I hung up.

Five minutes later, I opened Instagram.

Sloane had posted a new photo.

A perfect table by the window. Red roses. Fine French food. The Manhattan skyline glittering beyond the glass.

Only part of the man across from her was visible.

But I recognized Ryan's suit.

The caption read:

Thank you for giving me the most important seat tonight. You said the living should keep living for the ones we've lost. Dinner was perfect. #HeAlwaysKnows #LeBernardin

I laughed.

So this was the emergency.

Sloane's dead cat needed my anniversary dinner more than I did.

I walked to the closet and pulled out a black suitcase.

This time, I didn't cry, argue, or ask for an explanation.

I packed only what belonged to me.