Chapter 1

The hospital air was stale, thick with the scent of antiseptic and quiet desperation. For twenty-seven days, this had been my world. For twenty-seven days, I had sat by my mother' s bedside, watching the terminal illness chip away at her, and for twenty-seven days, I had begged Olivia to marry me.

My mom' s last wish wasn' t for a miracle cure or a trip around the world, it was simple. She just wanted to see me settled down, to know I had someone to take care of me after she was gone.

"Liam, please," she' d whisper, her voice thin as paper. "Just let me see you happy."

And my happiness, for the last six years, had been Olivia.

So I pleaded. I called, I texted, I showed up at her office with coffee. Each time, the answer was a variation of the same theme.

"Liam, honey, I' m just so swamped with the new project."

"Can we talk about this next week? Brandon' s father is a key investor, and I have to get this proposal perfect."

"It' s just not a good time right now."

Each excuse felt like a small delay, a reasonable hurdle. I was a designer, I understood deadlines and pressure. I trusted her.

On the twenty-seventh day, something shifted. Maybe it was the exhaustion in my voice, the raw panic she finally heard.

"Okay, Liam," she said over the phone, her voice softening. "Okay. Tomorrow. Let' s go to the courthouse tomorrow morning."

Relief washed over me so intensely I almost buckled. "Really? You mean it?"

"I mean it," she promised. "I' ll be there at ten."

The next morning, I left my mom in the care of a nurse, her hopeful eyes following me out the door. I stood outside the courthouse, clutching the two simple gold bands I' d bought weeks ago, my heart pounding with a nervous joy I hadn' t felt in a month.

Ten o' clock came and went.

Then ten-thirty.

By eleven, a cold dread began to seep into my bones. I called her phone. It went straight to voicemail. I sent a frantic series of texts. No reply.

At noon, I was still standing there, a fool in my best suit, when my phone buzzed with a notification from social media. It was a tag.

My thumb trembled as I tapped it open.

The picture filled my screen. It was Olivia, smiling brightly, holding up a marriage certificate. Standing beside her, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist, was Brandon, her childhood friend.

The caption he wrote was sickeningly cheerful. "The start of our forever! So happy to call my best friend my wife."

I zoomed in on the certificate, my vision blurring. The date was printed in stark, black letters. It was from twenty-seven days ago.

The exact day my mother was admitted to the hospital. The exact day I first proposed.

The world tilted. The sounds of the city faded into a dull roar in my ears. He had posted it today, the very day she was supposed to marry me. It was a declaration. A final, cruel victory lap.

My phone vibrated again. A text from Olivia.

"Liam, I' m so sorry. I can' t make it today. Something came up with Brandon, he' s not feeling well. We can do it next week, I promise. I' ll make it up to you."

My fingers went numb. She was still lying. Even now, after the public announcement, she was still trying to string me along with another empty promise.

I didn' t feel anger, not yet. Just a vast, hollow emptiness. I typed back a single word, my thumb moving stiffly.

"Okay."

I turned and walked away from the courthouse, leaving the ghost of our future behind.

When I got back to the hospital, the nurse met me at the door, her face grim. Mom had passed away peacefully in her sleep an hour ago.

Her last wish, unfulfilled.

The weight of it all finally crashed down on me. I spent the rest of the day in a fog, making arrangements, my heart a block of ice in my chest.

That evening, as I sat alone in my silent apartment, staring at the urn that now held my mother' s ashes, my phone rang.

It was Olivia.

I let it ring, the cheerful tone she' d picked for her contact grating on my raw nerves. I didn' t have the strength to hear her voice.

She called again. And again. Finally, I answered, holding the phone away from my ear.

"Liam, where have you been? I was so worried!" Her voice was a symphony of fake concern.

I said nothing.

"Look, I know you' re mad about this morning," she continued, her tone shifting to one of placating sweetness. "Brandon was just being so dramatic, you know how he is. He gets these migraines, and he needed me. I promise, it won' t happen again."

He needed her. On the day she secretly married him. My mind replayed the image of the certificate, the date burned into my memory.

"Next week," she chirped, as if nothing was wrong. "We' ll go next week for sure. Pick any day you want."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. It was a dry, broken sound.

"There won' t be a next week, Olivia," I said, my voice flat and dead. "There won' t be a next time."

I realized then that her "next time" was a bottomless pit of deceit, a promise she never intended to keep. It was a weapon she used to keep me tethered while she lived another life entirely.

My mother was gone. The one person who loved me unconditionally was gone, and her last wish was poisoned by Olivia' s lies.

"Mom is dead, Olivia," I said into the silence.

Then I hung up the phone and finally let myself break. I would not forgive her. Not for my mother. Not for me.