Chapter 1

I spent three hours preparing my mother's birthday dinner.

Not because I needed three hours to cook, but because I wanted everything to be perfect.

It was her sixty-second birthday, and according to the doctors, it might also be her last.

The thought sat quietly inside my chest as I moved around the dining room, adjusting the candles, straightening the silverware, and checking the table for the fourth time. A vase of white lilies stood in the center, their delicate petals opening beneath the warm chandelier light.

Mom had always loved lilies.

"They look peaceful," she used to say whenever she saw them.

So I bought the freshest ones I could find.

I wanted her final birthday to feel peaceful.

For the past six months, our lives had revolved around hospital rooms, medication schedules, whispered conversations with doctors, and the terrifying sound of machines measuring the distance between life and death. Her illness had taken almost everything from her. Her weight. Her strength. Her appetite.

But it had never taken her smile.

Not completely.

That afternoon, she had insisted on wearing the pale blue dress I gave her last Christmas.

"Do I look beautiful?" she asked when I helped her into it.

I smiled as I fastened the buttons at her back.

"You look more beautiful than anyone in this house."

She laughed softly.

"You've always been a terrible liar, Serena."

I kissed her cheek.

"I'm not lying."

She looked at me through the mirror.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

There was something in her eyes that made my fingers pause.

She knew.

I knew.

We simply refused to say it aloud.

Tonight, I wanted to pretend we had more time.

I had ordered her favorite dishes from the restaurant she loved before she became too weak to eat properly. I had even made the chocolate cake myself, despite the fact that my first attempt had nearly burned the kitchen down.

Adrian was supposed to come home early.

That was what he promised.

He had called two nights ago and said, "I'll be there, Serena. I wouldn't miss your mother's birthday."

I believed him.

Perhaps that was my first mistake.

By seven-thirty, everyone was seated except him.

Mom sat at the head of the table, looking tired but happy. My father had passed away years ago, and Adrian had gradually become the man she treated as family. She had defended him countless times whenever I complained about his late nights or his constant absence.

"He works hard for you," she would say.

I used to smile and accept it.

Because Mom believed Adrian loved me.

And I had spent seven years trying to believe it too.

At seven forty-five, the front door opened.

My heart lifted immediately.

"That's him."

Mom smiled.

I stood from my chair before I could stop myself.

Then I heard a woman's laughter.

My smile disappeared.

The footsteps approached.

And Adrian walked into the dining room.

He was wearing the charcoal suit I had bought him for our anniversary.

But he wasn't alone.

A young woman stood beside him.

She was beautiful.

Long dark hair. Delicate features. A cream-colored dress stretched over a visibly rounded stomach.

Her hand rested protectively over her belly.

I stared at her.

Then at Adrian.

For several seconds, no one spoke.

Adrian looked completely calm.

Almost bored.

As though bringing another woman to my mother's birthday dinner was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"Adrian," I said quietly.

His gaze settled on me.

"Happy birthday to your mother."

I couldn't move.

Mom's fingers tightened around the edge of the table.

"Who is she?"

Adrian glanced toward the woman beside him.

"This is Celeste."

Celeste lowered her eyes shyly.

"Hello, Mrs. Vale."

Mom didn't answer.

I finally found my voice.

"Why did you bring her here?"

Adrian sighed as though I were making things unnecessarily difficult.

"Because it's time you knew."

My stomach twisted.

He stepped closer, placing one hand casually around Celeste's waist.

The gesture was intimate.

Familiar.

Possessive.

Something inside me cracked.

"Celeste is pregnant."

Silence swallowed the room.

Then he added, almost casually,

"She's carrying my child."

I heard the glass in Mom's hand hit the table.

"Serena..."

Her voice was barely audible.

I turned toward her.

Her face had gone frighteningly pale.

"Mom?"

She tried to breathe.

I rushed toward her chair.

But Adrian didn't move.

He simply stood there with Celeste, watching.

"Seven years, Serena," he said. "I've spent seven years pretending this marriage still meant something. It doesn't."

I stared at him.

Seven years.

Seven years of waiting for him to come home.

Seven years of defending him when people whispered that my husband didn't love me.

Seven years of putting his career before mine, his family before mine, his needs before mine.

Seven years of watching my mother decline while telling myself that Adrian would eventually become the husband I had married.

And now he was standing in front of her with another woman carrying his child.

"Could you not do this tonight?" I whispered.

He frowned.

"Tonight?"

I looked at Mom.

She was struggling to breathe.

"She is dying."

The words came out sharper than I intended.

"She is dying, Adrian. You promised you would come home for her birthday."

For the first time, something flickered across his face.

Not guilt.

Annoyance.

"I didn't know she would react like this."

Mom suddenly coughed.

A deep, violent cough that bent her fragile body forward.

"Mom!"

I caught her shoulders.

Someone called for the nurse.

Everything became noise.

Footsteps.

A chair scraping against the floor.

Someone crying.

And through it all, Adrian stood beside Celeste.

He didn't come closer.

He didn't take my hand.

He didn't even ask if my mother was all right.

That was when I understood.

The marriage I had spent seven years protecting had already died.

I just hadn't been brave enough to bury it.

Mom survived the night long enough to see the room empty.

Adrian had left with Celeste.

He didn't even say goodbye.

I sat beside Mom's bed, holding her cold hand between mine.

Her breathing had become shallow.

"Serena," she whispered.

"I'm here."

Her eyes opened slowly.

"I'm sorry."

I shook my head immediately.

"Don't apologize."

"I should have told you sooner."

"Told me what?"

She looked at me with tears gathering in her eyes.

"I thought if you stayed with him, you'd have a family. I thought I was helping you."

My throat tightened.

"You did help me."

"No."

Her fingers squeezed mine weakly.

"I taught you to stay."

I couldn't speak.

She looked toward the window, where the city lights blurred against the darkness.

"Promise me something."

"Anything."

"Don't spend the rest of your life proving that you can survive someone who doesn't love you."

A tear slipped down my cheek.

"Mom..."

"You don't have to stay where you're not loved."

Her voice was barely more than a breath.

Then her fingers relaxed.

The monitor beside her bed changed its rhythm.

I froze.

"Mom?"

The room filled with nurses.

Someone called the doctor.

But I already knew.

My mother was gone.

I lowered my forehead onto her hand and cried without making a sound.

For seven years, I had believed love meant enduring.

Enduring loneliness.

Enduring humiliation.

Enduring disappointment.

Enduring a man who kept choosing everyone except me.

But sitting beside my mother's lifeless body, I finally understood what she had been trying to tell me.

Love was not supposed to feel like punishment.

And I didn't have to stay.

Not anymore.

Hours later, I returned to the house alone.

The lights in Adrian's bedroom were off.

I knew he was there.

So was Celeste.

I didn't go upstairs.

Instead, I walked into my study and closed the door.

My mother's voice remained inside my head.

You don't have to stay where you're not loved.

I opened my laptop.

For a long moment, I stared at the screen.

Then I searched for the application I had secretly saved months ago.

International Humanitarian Medical Program — Overseas Deployment Application.

I had once dreamed of leaving.

Of using my medical training somewhere it mattered.

Of becoming someone who existed beyond Adrian's wife.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Then I began typing.

Name.

Serena Vale.

Nationality.

Philippines.

Preferred deployment region.

I stopped.

For the first time in seven years, I didn't ask myself what Adrian would think.

I clicked the next box.

And kept going.