My mood.
I looked at him.
Then at Maya.
She seemed uncomfortable.
Maybe embarrassed.
Maybe guilty.
I did not know.
I gripped the suitcase handle.
“No.”
Ethan blinked.
“What?”
“No.”
Then I turned.
I walked toward the door.
“Claire.”
I kept moving.
“Claire.”
People turned to look.
I did not.
I stepped onto the platform.
The doors closed behind me.
Through the glass, Ethan stared at me.
Maya remained in my window seat.
Wearing his blazer.
The train began to move.
My phone rang immediately.
Ethan.
I declined the call.
Then a message appeared.
What the hell was that?
I stared at the screen.
Then at my engagement ring.
Eight weeks until our wedding.
Twelve weeks pregnant.
Five years together.
Five years of adjusting.
Compromising.
Explaining away behavior that hurt.
I typed.
I’ll be in Boston tomorrow.
But I won’t be arriving as your fiancée.
Three dots appeared instantly.
Then disappeared.
Then returned.
Claire, stop being dramatic.
I did not answer.
I called our wedding coordinator.
Her name was Denise.
She picked up cheerfully.
“Hi, Claire.”
“Hey.”
“I need you to pause every contract that can still be paused.”
Silence.
“What happened?”
“The wedding is canceled.”
Another silence.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Completely.”
She lowered her voice.
“Okay.”
“I’ll start making calls.”
“Thank you.”
When the call ended, I removed my ring.
I placed it inside my handbag.
I did not throw it.
I did not cry.
Not yet.
I checked the departure board.
Next Boston train.
Two hours and seventeen minutes.
Perfect.
Because Ethan had forgotten something important.
The Scott Global deal we were traveling to close was not his account.
It was mine.
