Chapter 4

I stood in the kitchen doorway without saying a word.

On the counter were a phone tripod and a ring light, with takeout containers and several bowls of prepared sauces set beside them.

Bianca was filming a short video. To keep her trial shift at the nail salon, she had decided to start an inspirational cooking account about learning to make comfort food from scratch.

Dylan stood behind the ring light, holding the stand steady.

When he noticed me, he froze, then reached over and turned down the burner.

My gaze moved past them and landed on the countertop.

The metal box had been opened. My mother’s handwritten recipe pages had been spread across the greasy board as a backdrop for the video.

Bianca’s hand, with my diamond ring on it, was pressing down on the yellowed paper.

I walked over, moved the phone tripod aside, and reached out to close the recipe book.

“Jenna, it’s not what you think!” Bianca was flustered when she saw my expression.

She jerked her hand back, forgetting about the raised setting of the ring on her finger.

The paper tore with a loud rip.

The phone was still recording with its camera pointed straight at the cutting board.

The ring setting caught on the edge of the recipe page and ripped a long tear through it.

It was the last recipe my mother had written for me from her hospital bed before she died. Stains left by her medication were still visible in the corner.

“Oh no!” Bianca cried out. Her elbow struck backward.

One of the prepared dark sauces tipped over. The sauce seeped through the tear and soaked the entire page.

The kitchen was dead silent.

I did not scream. I did not slap her. I did not even reach for the ring.

Numbly, I picked up the recipe pages, now dripping with sauce, and laid them flat on a clean dish towel.

Dylan immediately rushed over to Bianca. He gripped her shoulders as he checked whether she had been splattered by anything hot from the stove.

After he was certain she was unharmed, he finally turned to look at the ruined recipe pages.

Panic flashed across his face as he grabbed a paper towel and reached toward me.

“Jenna, I’m so sorry. Bianca was only using them as a prop. We can let the pages dry, or I’ll find a professional paper conservator tomorrow. I promise they can be restored.”

I raised my hand and pushed his paper towels aside.

Bianca stood behind him. She cried as she tried to pull the ring off her finger. “Jenna, I’m giving it back to you now. I don’t want it anymore.”

Her hands were slick with oil and sweat. Her finger was slightly swollen. The ring was stuck at the knuckle of her ring finger and would not come off.

Scraps of paper from my mother’s recipe page were still caught along the edge of the diamond setting.

When Dylan saw how red her finger had become, he held her hand down and soothed her in a low voice.

“Stop pulling at it. You’re going to tear your skin. Go sit in the living room for a minute. I’ll clean up here.”

I separated the page with the worst tear, then layered it carefully between sheets of absorbent paper.

I did not explain to him that once sauce had soaked through my mother’s handwriting, it could never truly be restored.

My eyes fell on Dylan’s phone on the dining table.

The screen had not gone dark yet. It was still open to the memo page.

It was the page he had instinctively opened while comforting Bianca.

I only glanced at it once.

The line at the top had already been changed.

[Free pass for letting Bianca hurt Jenna: 0 remaining.]

The small print beneath it was still there.

[If Jenna ends the relationship first, all free passes will automatically reset.]

After calming Bianca down, Dylan turned to me.

“Jenna, Bianca’s finger is swollen. I’m going to take her to the urgent care clinic nearby to get the ring off. Don’t touch the kitchen, okay? I’ll clean everything up when I get back.”

I did not look at him. I simply nodded.

The door closed. I was alone in the apartment.

I slipped the torn recipe pages into a clear plastic document sleeve.

Then, I opened my phone and moved the photo release form, the course cancellation notice, and the group chat screenshots into an Evidence album.

I did not touch Dylan’s phone. I did not delete the note or change the number. I certainly was not going to send him a breakup message.

As long as I never said I was leaving him, his free passes would stay at zero forever. There would never be another reset.

I walked to the entryway, took my key off the hook, and placed it in the center of the now-empty metal box.

I turned off the burner in the kitchen, wiped the cutting board clean, and packed the undamaged recipe pages into my bag.

Finally, I stepped outside and peeled off the delivery sticker beside the door. It used to have both our names written on it.

I left Dylan’s name by itself.

I picked up the suitcase I had packed earlier and left by the door.

I did not turn off the lights. I slipped the spare key back through the gap beneath the door.

Then, I turned and walked down the stairs. I did not look back once.