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After 8-Year Love Crash, I Won Big

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In the eighth year of our relationship, at my best friend’s wedding.

The guests in the reception hall started cheering, urging Cole to take advantage of the atmosphere and propose to me.

He held the bride’s bouquet and walked toward me.

My palms grew damp with sweat, and I took half a step forward to meet him.

Cole stopped in front of me, glanced at me, and gave a careless little smile.

Then he walked past me and went to Renee, the new intern standing behind me, before handing her the bouquet.

“It’s not easy for a young girl to come here and make it on her own. Take it for good luck. Let me lend you a little blessing.”

Renee accepted the bouquet with a blush, then gave me a timid glance.

The cheers died instantly.

The entire room fell into dead silence.

Cole turned back around and patted me on the shoulder.

“We’re practically an old married couple already. You’re not seriously getting jealous over a bouquet, are you?”

I looked at him, then took off the three-inch heels I had bought specifically to match his height.

Barefoot, I stepped onto the hotel carpet.

“I’m not jealous.”

I slipped the plain matching ring off my ring finger and tossed it into the side plate beside me.

“I just think this is all pretty pointless now. These eight years, I’ll just consider them wasted on a dog.”

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Chapter 1
The hallway had no carpet. The floor was cold. I didn't flinch. I walked out in long, steady strides. Behind me came the sound of dress shoes. "Mia, can you stop this?" Cole's voice came from behind me, thick with alcohol. "It was just one bouquet. I'll buy you a whole carload when we get back." I pushed through the revolving glass door of the hotel. The wind hit my face hard. I got into a cab parked along the curb. "Drive," I told the driver. Cole ran up to the window and knocked on the glass twice, hard. His mouth was moving, but I couldn't hear a word through it. The cab merged into traffic. In the rearview mirror, he didn't chase after me. He stood where he was, brushed the dust off his suit trousers without looking up, and turned back toward the reception hall. He was certain I'd come home on my own tonight. Back at the apartment, I didn't turn on the living room light. I went to the bedroom, pulled the suitcase out from under the bed, and laid it open on the floor. I slid the wardrobe open. Three-quarters of the left side was his clothes. My few jackets hung in the far right corner. I took three changes of clothes and packed my underwear. From the bathroom, I grabbed my electric toothbrush and face wash. I left the facial wipes — his mother had bought those. I zipped the suitcase shut. It was only half full, the mesh pocket slack and empty. I stood in the doorway of the apartment I'd lived in for three years. Everything that belonged to me, cleared out in twenty minutes. I carried the half-empty suitcase to the entryway and took out my phone. Seventeen unread messages on f*******:, from the bridesmaids, from close friends, from people we both knew. All of them asking what had happened, saying Cole was drinking alone at the table, telling me to hurry back and smooth things over. I scrolled to the bottom. Seventeen messages. Not one from Cole. No missed calls. Not a single word. In his eyes, my feelings never needed tending to. Leave them alone overnight and they'd sort themselves out. I put my phone back in my pocket, pushed the door open, and let it lock behind me.

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