I bailed hard.
Inside the elevator, I finally tapped accept on Cindy’s request.
She didn’t wait. First thing she sent was a photo—Peter in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, apron on, cooking. He was wearing the shirt I’d just bought him last week. The one he made a big deal of putting on this morning.
[Yuna, Peter’s worried I’ve lost my appetite, so he made my favorite chicken and vegetable stew.]
[He says he hopes the baby looks like me. But I hope it looks like him.]
She kept going. Photos. Videos. All of it.
One clip hit different—Peter in a suit, all smiles. That was from a year ago, right before my PhD graduation. He’d sent me a dress the night before, said it was custom-made for the ceremony.
But in the video, Cindy had my anniversary gift—his tie—wrapped around her wrist.
He looked sharp, perfect. Cindy’s pale arms around his neck, that tie swaying as they moved.
And the next day, he wore that same suit to my graduation, handed me a camellia—my favorite—and looked at me like I was his whole world.
