The first time I realized my boyfriend no longer loved me, I was standing in a room full of people who had come to celebrate my twenty-ninth birthday.
The second time was when I caught him kissing another woman.
And the third?
That happened when he looked straight into my eyes and asked me not to embarrass him.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
My name is Maya Bennett, and until that night, I believed that if you loved someone hard enough, forgave them often enough, and stayed when things became difficult, eventually they would remember why they had fallen in love with you.
I was wrong.
The rooftop restaurant shimmered above downtown Chicago, all glass walls, white roses, candlelight, and a perfect view of the river.
I had planned every detail myself.
The three-tier lemon cake.
The jazz trio.
The champagne.
Even the tiny gold ribbons tied around the dinner menus.
Twenty-nine wasn't supposed to be an important birthday, but I had decided to make it one.
I had spent the previous year working sixty-hour weeks as a senior event coordinator, helping other people celebrate weddings, anniversaries, engagements, and promotions.
For once, I wanted to celebrate myself.
And I wanted Marcus to be there.
There was only one problem.
He was missing.
Again.
My best friend Tasha stood beside me at the railing, checking her watch with obvious irritation.
"One hour and twelve minutes."
"Please stop counting."
"I stopped counting at forty minutes. Now I'm collecting evidence."
I forced a laugh.
That had become my favorite survival skill lately.
Marcus had been canceling dinners, ignoring calls, sleeping with his phone facedown, and somehow making every question I asked sound like a personal attack against him.
Where were you?
Why didn't you answer?
Are we okay?
Every time, I ended up apologizing for being suspicious.
We had been together for four years.
When I met Marcus Reed, he was a charming marketing executive with ambitious dreams, a tiny apartment, and a talent for making me feel like the most important woman in any room.
He used to bring me coffee before work.
He used to leave ridiculous little notes inside my purse.
He once drove three hours through a snowstorm because I had mentioned wanting to see the Christmas lights in a small town outside Chicago.
I had loved that man.
Somewhere along the way, I had started loving the memory of him instead.
At 9:17 p.m., the elevator doors opened.
Marcus stepped out in the navy suit I had helped him choose last Christmas.
Relief rushed through me so quickly it almost hurt.
I straightened my dress and smiled.
For a moment, I imagined him walking directly toward me, pulling me into his arms, and whispering that he was sorry.
Instead, he greeted two friends, took a bourbon from a passing server, checked his phone, and disappeared toward the indoor lounge.
He hadn't even kissed me hello.
Tasha slowly turned toward me.
"Maya."
"He probably had a long day."
"On your birthday?"
I looked away.
Her voice softened.
"You deserve someone who looks happy to see you."
"I know."
But knowing something and accepting it were not the same thing.
Twenty minutes later, I went looking for Marcus.
The bar was empty.
The terrace was empty.
Then I heard his voice behind a half-open door near one of the private dining rooms.
A woman laughed.
For one stupid second, I thought he might have planned some surprise for me.
Then I pushed the door open.
He had.
Just not the kind I expected.
Marcus was kissing a blonde woman in a red dress against the edge of a table.
My entire body went cold.
The strangest details burned into my memory.
The champagne sweating in an ice bucket.
The woman's gold bracelet.
Marcus's hand resting on her waist.
My own birthday music drifting in from outside like something cruel and distant.
The woman pulled away first.
"Oh my God."
Marcus looked at me.
Not guilty.
Irritated.
"Maya."
I stared at him.
"What am I looking at?"
The woman grabbed her purse.
"I didn't know he was still with someone."
Marcus turned toward her immediately.
"Claire, wait."
That hurt more than the kiss.
He was afraid she would leave.
Not me.
Her.
I stepped aside and looked straight at her.
"No. Please. Let her go."
Claire hurried past me.
Marcus dragged both hands over his face, then looked at me like I was the one causing the scene.
"Can we not do this here?"
I stared at him.
"You're kissing another woman at my birthday party, and you're worried about where we're having this conversation?"
"Lower your voice."
Something inside me went completely still.
"How long?"
He looked toward the door.
"Seriously, Maya?"
"How long have you been seeing her?"
He loosened his tie.
"It's complicated."
I almost laughed.
Four years of loving him, and that was the best he could offer.
"It's complicated?"
"We've been having problems."
"We've been having problems because you've been lying to me."
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Turning everything into an interrogation."
I stared at him.
There it was.
The familiar trick.
Somehow, I was supposed to apologize for discovering his betrayal.
I looked down at my dress.
Pale blue.
Sparkling.
Beautiful.
I had chosen it because Marcus once told me blue made my eyes look brighter.
"Did you bring her here knowing I was having my birthday party?"
He said nothing.
"Marcus."
"She was already downstairs when I arrived."
I felt sick.
"So you invited her?"
"She wanted to talk."
"And you couldn't talk anywhere else?"
He looked at me with an expression I had once mistaken for patience.
"You're making this bigger than it needs to be."
That was when I finally understood.
He wasn't sorry.
He was annoyed that I had interrupted him.
I turned toward the door.
"Maya, wait."
For one terrible second, my heart lifted.
Then he spoke again.
"Don't go out there and make a scene. My boss is here."
I looked back at him.
"Your boss?"
"My reputation matters."
I nodded slowly.
"So does mine."
Then I walked out.
The music was still playing.
Someone laughed near the bar.
A waiter carried a tray of champagne past me.
The world continued as though mine hadn't just collapsed.
Tasha saw my face before I reached the table.
"What happened?"
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
She grabbed my hands.
"Maya?"
"He's with someone else."
Her expression changed.
"Where is he?"
"Please don't."
"Where?"
"Tasha."
She stopped.
I had never seen her look so angry.
"I'm going to kill him."
"No."
I swallowed hard.
"I just want to leave."
She reached for her purse.
"I'm coming with you."
I shook my head.
"I need a minute alone."
"You're shaking."
"I know."
"Then let me help you."
I looked toward the private dining room.
Marcus had come out.
He was standing near the bar, speaking into his phone.
He hadn't even looked for me.
"I can't stay here," I whispered.
Tasha pulled me into a hug.
"Call me the second you get downstairs."
I nodded.
Then I left my own birthday party.
The elevator ride felt endless.
When the doors opened onto the ground floor, I walked through the marble lobby and past the enormous floral arrangements I had personally approved that morning.
Outside, Chicago glittered beneath the night sky.
The pavement was wet from an earlier rain.
Traffic moved steadily along the street.
I stood beneath the restaurant's glowing entrance, trying to breathe.
My phone vibrated.
For one ridiculous moment, I thought Marcus was calling.
It was a message from Tasha.
I'm coming down. Don't go anywhere.
I typed back.
I just need air.
Then another message appeared.
This one was from Marcus.
We need to talk when you've calmed down.
I stared at the screen.
Not I'm sorry.
Not Please come back.
Not even Happy birthday.
I deleted the message.
Then I deleted the photograph of us that had been my phone's wallpaper for three years.
My fingers were trembling so badly that I almost dropped the phone.
I thought about every dinner I had eaten alone.
Every canceled weekend.
Every time he had told me I was imagining things.
Every apology I had offered for asking questions I had every right to ask.
I pressed a hand against my chest.
The pain felt physical.
I wanted to get away from the restaurant.
From the music.
From the people upstairs who still believed I was celebrating.
From the man I had once imagined marrying.
I stepped toward the curb.
My phone vibrated again.
I glanced down.
And then I heard a horn.
A long, desperate blast.
I looked up.
Headlights were racing toward me.
For one frozen second, I saw the dark outline of a luxury car and the face of a man behind its windshield.
His eyes widened.
The tires screamed.
I tried to move.
But my body didn't respond quickly enough.
The car struck me.
My silver purse flew from my hand.
The pavement rushed toward my face.
And the last thing I remember thinking was that I had spent my entire birthday waiting for the wrong man.
Then everything went black.