It's Time to End This
Ethan Holloway's first love had come back to New York after six years.
She had brought a five-year-old son with her.
Ethan had been "away on business" for a month.
Tonight was Aria's third wedding anniversary.
She had set the table for two. Candles, the good china, a small gift box tied with navy ribbon. She'd texted him at six.
By nine, Ethan still hadn't come home.
Her phone rang instead. It was Mia, his younger sister.
"Check your messages," Mia said. "I'm so sorry, Aria."
One look was all it took.
The plate in Aria's hand slipped and shattered on the marble floor. A shard sliced her ankle, and a thin line of red welled up on her skin.
She didn't even flinch.
Mia had sent screenshots of Ethan's Instagram. He had rented an entire yacht in New York Harbor and was setting off birthday fireworks for his first love's son.
The harbor. The yacht. Fireworks over the water. Roses everywhere.
And her husband, holding a little boy on one arm, the hand with his wedding ring resting low on a woman's waist.
The caption read: *Homemade blueberry cake for my two favorite people.*
Even through a screen, it looked like love.
With shaking hands, Aria opened Ethan's profile on her own phone.
Nothing. No yacht. No fireworks. No cake.
At some point, her husband had put everyone he knew on his Close Friends list.
Everyone except her.
She called him anyway.
He didn't answer. She called again.
The third time, he declined. A text came through a few seconds later.
*Busy.*
One word. Impatient.
Rage, jealousy, grief. They hit her all at once, and her knees gave out. Aria curled up on the floor with her hands over her head. It felt as if someone was tearing her heart out with their bare hands.
She screamed until her throat was raw. Then she broke down and sobbed.
The doorbell rang.
Mia stood in the doorway, and her face went pale. "Aria. Get your coat. We're going to the harbor. I'll drag him off that boat myself."
Slowly, Aria pulled herself together. "This is between your brother and me, Mia. Let me handle it."
Her mother had just come out of heart bypass surgery and was still in the hospital. Aria couldn't afford to fall apart. Not now.
After Mia left, Aria wandered through the penthouse like a ghost.
She and Ethan had grown up together.
Everyone in their circle knew she'd loved him since she was a little girl.
Everyone also knew Ethan had a first love he'd never gotten over.
He had married Aria because their families arranged it.
For three years, she had believed that if she tried hard enough, one day she would melt his heart.
Instead, the whole city was calling his reunion with his first love the romance of the decade.
A childhood crush. A grown woman's love. Twenty-five years of her life.
All used up.
It was time to end this.
Her mind knew exactly what to do next. Her heart hurt so much she could barely breathe.
That night, Ethan didn't come home.
* * *
For the next three days, Aria stayed at the hospital with her mother.
Ethan didn't call once.
When her mother was finally stable, her father sent Aria home to rest.
Late that night, half asleep, she heard the bedroom door open. Then the shower.
The mattress dipped beside her. Before she understood what was happening, she was in Ethan's arms.
A month. He had finally decided to come home.
He felt her go rigid. His arm tightened around her waist, and he turned her to face him. His mouth found the curve of her neck.
In three years of marriage, the only time Ethan was ever this warm with her was in bed. Every time, she had let herself believe that maybe he loved her too.
Aria caught his hand.
For the first time in their marriage, she said, "Don't."
He stopped.
Her voice was hoarse from crying, and he took it for exhaustion. "You're tired," he murmured. "It's fine."
He didn't understand. He never had.
Because the moment she closed her eyes, she saw it again. The yacht. The fireworks. Her husband's hand, wedding ring and all, on another woman's waist.
*For my two favorite people.*
Her stomach heaved. Aria shoved him away, leaned over the edge of the bed, and gagged.
The lamp clicked on.
Ethan rubbed her back. "Are you sick?"
She pushed his hand away and went into the bathroom.
She wasn't sick. She was disgusted.
He went downstairs to get her some water. He didn't notice her swollen eyes. He didn't notice her voice was gone. He didn't notice the cut on her ankle.
When he came back, he held out the glass. "I'll book a restaurant tomorrow. We'll make up for the anniversary."
No explanation. No apology. He might as well have been reading her his schedule.
Aria lay down without taking it. "Don't bother."
So he *had* remembered it was their anniversary.
He'd still spent the whole night watching fireworks with his first love and their son.
For three years, she had taken care of everything for him. She'd never let him lift a finger at home.
And he had baked a blueberry cake with his own hands for that woman and her child.
He had a five-year-old son with his first love, and he could still climb into bed beside his wife as if nothing had happened.
For the first time, Aria saw the man she'd loved for most of her life for exactly what he was.
A hypocrite.
Neither of them spoke. The silence stretched tight between them.
Then Ethan's phone lit up.
