“I’ve still got work to finish. Can’t make it tonight. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, okay? You got the gift, right? I promised—one ring every birthday.”
I glanced at the velvet box sitting in the trash.
Peter called my name a few more times. Then I heard Cindy crying out in the background.
“I get it,” I said. “Go back to work.”
He blew a kiss through the phone. I felt nothing but disgust.
Right after I hung up, another message from Cindy popped up:
[The baby’s coming.]
Just seeing the cake made my stomach turn. I dumped it, along with the Floyd roses, straight into the trash.
Then I spotted Peter’s wine cabinet.
That fancy bottle of Domaine Leroy caught my eye.
I finished the Romanée-Conti. Emptied the Leroy too.
I crashed onto the couch, eyes locked on the photo wall—shots Peter had carefully arranged of us smiling.
But all I could see was that video. Him and Cindy.
I ended up in the bathroom, curled over the toilet, dry heaving until there was nothing left.
The alcohol didn’t knock me out. I stayed wide awake all night.
By the time the sky turned pale, Phoebe called.
“She had the baby. It’s a boy.”
My head pounded. I answered like a robot. “Okay.”
By noon, Peter still hadn’t shown. But Cindy? She texted again.
No words this time—just a pic.
Peter holding the baby, eyes soft.
I closed the chat and dialed Lionel’s friend.
“Mr. Kane, is the divorce agreement ready? I don’t want anything. I just want it done.”
***
I made myself some pasta. Aunt Sophia called.
“Yuna, have you thought more about moving to Hampsburg? If you’re worried about Peter, he could still work in Rivera. It’s not that far.”