Ethan’s birthday arrived two days later.

At midnight, his apartment was full of people.

His friends had brought champagne, a huge cake and the woman from the photograph.

Everyone was waiting for the same thing.

Me.

At 12:15, one of Ethan’s friends laughed.

—Victoria is holding out longer than usual.

Ethan checked his phone.

Nothing.

—Give her time.

At one in the morning, he checked again.

At two, he finally tried calling me.

The number no longer existed.

That was when, according to Mia, he stopped smiling.

The next morning he went to our apartment.

His key didn’t work.

He called the landlord.

She told him the lease had ended and the apartment was empty.

—Where did Victoria go?

—I don’t know.

—When did she leave?

—Two days ago.

Apparently Ethan stood in that hallway for almost ten minutes.

He had spent a month believing I was waiting for him.

He never imagined I was learning how to leave.

Meanwhile, six hundred kilometers away, I was assembling a secondhand desk with Gabriel.

He had knocked on my door that morning carrying a toolbox.

—Your chair has been sitting downstairs for three hours.

I looked past him.

The deliveryman had apparently refused to carry it to the sixth floor.

—I was going to get it.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

—By yourself?

—I carried my life here by myself.

He didn’t ask what that meant.

He simply carried the chair upstairs.

That was something I began to appreciate about him.

Gabriel never demanded explanations.

He worked as an architect and usually came home late, covered in dust from construction sites. Sometimes we crossed paths on the stairs. Sometimes he left fruit outside my door because his mother sent too much.

Nothing complicated.

Nothing owed.

Three weeks later, I found a new job at a small design studio.

The salary was lower.

The office was smaller.

But nobody there knew Ethan Shen.

I loved that.

Then one Friday afternoon, Mia called.

—Victoria, Ethan came back.

I stopped drawing.

—To the office?

—Yes. He demanded your new address.

—You didn’t tell him?

—I don’t know it.

She hesitated.

—He looks terrible.

I said nothing.

—He broke up with that woman from the photo.

Still nothing.

—Apparently she admitted the picture was staged.

That finally made me pause.

—Staged?

—Ethan wanted you to see it.

I closed my eyes.

Of course.

Seven years together, and even his betrayal had been turned into another test.

—He thought you’d get jealous and come back.

I looked around my new studio.

Sunlight fell across my unfinished sketches.

—Then his test worked.

Mia sounded confused.

—What?

—He finally found out what happens when I don’t come back.

That evening, someone knocked on my apartment door.

Gabriel stood outside holding a package.

—This was delivered to me by mistake.

My name was written across the top.

No return address.

I opened it.

Inside was a small wooden box.

My heart sank.

I recognized it immediately.

Seven years earlier, Ethan had given it to me on our first anniversary.

Inside were dozens of photographs.

Movie tickets.

Letters.

And the silver bracelet I had left behind.

There was also a note.

“I know where you are.”

My fingers went cold.

Gabriel noticed my expression.

—Everything okay?

I folded the note.

—Someone from my past apparently doesn’t understand when something is over.

Gabriel’s expression became serious.

—Do you need help?

I shook my head.

—No.

This time, I wanted to solve my own problems.

I went inside and called Mia.

—Did you tell Ethan my city?

—No! Victoria, I swear.

—Did anyone at work know?

—Only HR had your forwarding information.

That night, I barely slept.

Not because I wanted Ethan back.

Because I couldn’t understand how he had found me.

The answer came the following morning.

I was leaving for work when a black car stopped across the street.

The rear door opened.

Ethan stepped out.

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

He looked different.

Thinner.

Tired.

But still wearing the watch I had bought him after saving for six months.

—Victoria.

I tightened my grip on my bag.

—How did you find me?

He ignored the question.

—You really disappeared.

—That was the idea.

He took one step toward me.

—Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?

—Do you know how long I spent waiting for you?

He stopped.

For once, Ethan had no clever answer.

—I made a mistake.

—No.

I shook my head.

—You made hundreds. I simply stopped counting.

—The photograph meant nothing.

—That’s worse.

His face changed.

—What?

—If you really loved her, at least you destroyed us for something real. But you humiliated me just to see whether I’d crawl back.

Ethan’s eyes reddened.

—I thought you’d call.

—I know.

That was the saddest part.

He reached into his coat.

For one ridiculous second, I thought he might produce another gift.

Instead, he handed me an envelope.

—Before you tell me to leave, read this.

I didn’t take it.

—What is it?

—Something I found after you disappeared.

His voice lowered.

—It’s about why every fight we had during the last two years started exactly the same way.

I frowned.

—What are you talking about?

Ethan placed the envelope on the steps.

—Someone was sending both of us messages and deleting them before the other person could see.

My stomach tightened.

—That’s impossible.

—That’s what I thought.

He looked directly at me.

—Until I found the second WeChat account registered under your name.

I stared at him.

I had never created a second account.

Ethan stepped backward.

—Look inside, Victoria.

Then he returned to the car.

I waited until it disappeared before touching the envelope.

Inside were dozens of screenshots.

Arguments I remembered.

Messages I didn’t.

Photographs I had never sent.

And then I reached the final page.

My hands stopped.

Because the recovery email attached to the fake account belonged to someone I knew.

Someone who had comforted me after almost every fight with Ethan.

Mia.