Chapter 2

On my way back, my phone buzzed with a call from my director. He needed me to run a quick errand at Eliford University's Department of Literature to retrieve a set of files for him.

As I hung up, a weary sigh escaped my lips. I was doing everything in my power to draw a line between us, yet fate seemed determined to mock me.

Lucas was a tenured professor in that exact department.

When I arrived on campus, the walkways were swarming with students navigating the peak class rush. Certain fragments of conversation became impossible to ignore.

"I can't believe I actually managed to snag a seat in Professor Vance's lecture! His enrollment is literally cutthroat."

"Right? All the girls register hoping to get his attention, and half the guys only show up because of Miss Winters, his TA. Honestly, they look like a total power couple."

...

My footsteps faltered, slowing to a crawl as a sudden, familiar wave of bitterness flooded my chest. We had been together for five long years, yet I had never once been permitted to openly exist within Lucas's professional or social circles.

During the honeymoon phase of our relationship, I used to wrap my arms around his neck, softly begging him to introduce me to his colleagues or to change his social media profile header to a picture of us.

But the meticulous literature professor had simply knitted his brows, looking down at me with the detached disappointment one might show an unreasonable child.

"Grow up, Edith. You're not 18 anymore. Stop obsessing over these shallow, performative gestures. It is unbecoming of my position."

I had been paralyzed by his bluntness that day. And from that moment on, I never dared to bring it up again.

...

Nearby, the two girls continued to exchange hushed, animated gossip about the rumored romance between the professor and his assistant.

"Seriously, his faculty bio page says he's engaged, but I'm convinced that's just a placeholder to keep people from digging. It has to be Miss Winters. I mean, has anyone ever seen his fiancée?"

"Exactly. A man often so rigid and serious only smiles when he's looking at her."

Their voices drifted away as they turned the corner. My pace dragged until I came to a halt against the corridor wall, the sheer weight of five years of hidden humiliation crashing down on me all at once.

I took a deep, stabilizing breath. "It's fine. I have my exit strategy. In three days, everything will be over."

After securing the necessary files from the administrative office, I passed by the second faculty lounge. Through the heavy silence of the hall, a familiar, playful laugh echoed out.

"You have to try this. It's really good!"

Through the narrow crack of the half-open door, I saw Lila and Lucas sitting closely at his desk, sharing breakfast.

Lila naturally lifted a glass of milk to his lips.

But Lucas hated milk. The one time I had fed him years ago, he had walked out with a cold expression, leaving me crying alone at home.

But now, before my eyes, he merely let out a soft, helpless sigh under Lila's persistent coaxing. His expression was unlocked, radiating a profound, indulgent gentleness as he leaned forward and drank it.

Lila's eyes sparkled. "How is it? Good?"

Lucas nodded. "It's alright."

A self-deprecating smile touched my lips. It turned out that Lucas was capable of being tender, accommodating, and deeply patient with someone.

I had simply spent five years operating under the delusion that he was incapable of it, when the truth was simpler: I had just never been the person who earned it.

Not even once.

Inside the quiet office, Lucas naturally reached out with a napkin, gently dabbing a stray crumb from the corner of Lila's mouth.

"Did you sleep better last night?" he asked softly. "No insomnia?"

"I slept beautifully," Lila beamed. "You know how it is—as long as we keep our mics open on a voice call all night, my anxiety completely vanishes."

Then, as if a sudden thought struck her, her brow furrowed slightly. "But... I know you have that strict rule about never answering the phone after 9:00 p.m. Am I bothering you?"

"You're my exception," Lucas replied without hesitation.

Those simple words wrapped around my heart like thorny vines, squeezing until it hurt to breathe. Hearing him say it out loud caused a sharp moment of pain, but it quickly faded into numbness.

Thorns hurt badly when pulled out, but once they were gone, time would heal the wound.

I leaned against the wall for a long moment, waiting until every trace of emotion had drained from my eyes before turning to leave the building.

...

When I returned to our shared apartment, I started packing my things bit by bit.

It was astonishing—the place I had meticulously curated and called home for half a decade yielded barely enough personal belongings to fill a single suitcase.

Later that evening, Lucas's name flared across my phone screen.

"Head down to the curb," he instructed. "We're expected at my mother's place for dinner tonight."

"Okay," I replied quietly.

Spotting his car idling by the sidewalk, I walked over and instinctively reached out to pull open the front passenger door.

But the moment the seal broke, I froze. Lila was already nestled into the leather seat, munching on a box of walnut cookies.

"Oh! Hi, Edith," she greeted me, her voice sweet and entirely unbothered.

When I saw the crumbs scattered on the seat, my first instinct was to look at Lucas. He hated it when people ate in his car—including me.

But tonight, his features remained passive, as if this violation of his sanctuary was something he had long since embraced.

I stared at him, the reality washing over me like cold water. I had nearly forgotten that Lila was the one exception in his life.

Lila quickly wiped her mouth and started cleaning the seat. "I'll sit in the back. I..."

"It's fine. Stay there," I said dismissively, pushing open the rear door.

Lucas's eyes flickered with confusion, but I ignored it. Similar things had happened before, and they always ended with Lucas snapping at me impatiently. "It's just a seat. Don't make a big deal out of it."

I looked out the window at the drizzle, no longer feeling the sadness and grievance I used to. The absolute tranquility settling over me was almost startling.

But that was not wrong. It was just a seat, and Lucas was just a man. To me, they were the same—items I no longer had any use for.