Chapter 2: Cold Goodbye

This wasn’t the first time Rachel had used breaking off our marriage as a weapon.

Ever since Derek came back two years ago and invested in her company, the wedding date we’d picked kept getting pushed back. We’d argued about it so many times I lost count, threatening to break up more than once.

It was a routine. Friends would ask why we hadn’t set a date, and Rachel would laugh it off, blaming work or the company launch. I played along, but the joke got old fast. Eventually, we both retreated into our corners, circling each other in a never-ending cold war.

But this time, I meant it.

Rachel, though, didn’t seem to. She scoffed, “Fine, fine, let’s break up then. Why are you still here?”

I got up, headed to the bedroom, and rolled out a suitcase. I’d packed it last night after seeing the photo Derek sent me.

Rachel’s face darkened instantly.

I wheeled the suitcase in front of her, looked at her tired, hungover face, and sighed. “Your stomach’s not great—try to drink less. I left the stuff for hangover soup in the kitchen cabinet, don’t forget to make it. Your usual supplements are in—”

She was still wearing the T-shirt I’d bought her on our last trip to Chicago, the hem wrinkled. The kitchen, with its half-empty mugs and bottle of Pepto, suddenly looked foreign, like I’d already been erased from the picture.

“Enough.”

Rachel cut me off with a cold laugh. “If we’re breaking up, why pretend you care?”

She was venting her anger. She rushed to the door, yanked it open, and shouted, “I don’t want to see you anymore. Get out! Get out!”

I took a deep breath, dragged my suitcase past her. “Rachel, goodbye.”

The door slammed behind me with a thunderous bang.

The slam echoed in my skull. I waited in the hallway, half hoping she’d yank the door open and call me back. She didn’t. The elevator ride down was the loneliest of my life.

At the building’s entrance, I ran into Derek. No doubt, he was the one who’d driven Rachel home.

He was sitting in his Tesla. When he saw me with my suitcase, he hopped out and blocked my way, his fox-like eyes full of mockery.

The morning air was chilly, tinged with spring and city exhaust. Derek leaned on his shiny car, wearing that smug grin that made me want to punch something.

“Well, if it isn’t Caleb. Finally kicked out by Rachel?”

I shot him a cold glance, not wasting my breath.

But he blocked my path. “If only you’d realized your place sooner. A guy like you, living off Rachel, never deserved her.”

I stopped and sneered. “Yeah, I don’t deserve her. You two are a perfect match. Hope you’re happy together—grow old, whatever.”

My voice was steady, but inside I felt hollowed out. The Uber app said my ride was two minutes away. I watched a squirrel dart by, absurdly grateful for the distraction.

I shoved past him, hailed my Uber, and got in.

In the rearview mirror, I saw Derek spit in my direction, then rush back inside.

I laughed at myself.

What a devoted childhood friend.

Derek had probably been waiting here, hoping Rachel and I would fight so he could swoop in as the caring big brother.

Now they were a perfect match, and I—the fiancé—looked petty and childish.

But once, Rachel had never treated me with such impatience.