could chase his Broadway dream. He was the brilliant director, the rising star, and I was the woman who made it all possible. I worked three different jobs-a barista in

r, his scheduler, his entire support system, all of it fuele

amination table, the city a distant hum outside the window, and listened to the doctor say words that didn't seem real. Rare. Aggressive. A complicated name for an illness I couldn't pronounce. He didn't have to say the last part, but I

ise him, maybe we could have our anniversary dinner a week early. I used my key, quietly turning the lock on the apartment we had shared for a decade. The first thing I saw

again, the rising starlet from his latest show, Scarlett. The sound was a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. I saw my reflection in t

peared behind him, wrapped in our bedsheet, looking at me with a lazy, triumphant smirk. She didn't even have the decency to look ashamed. "Is this her?" she asked Ethan, as if I were

in a thin layer of dust. It held all my old sketches, all my forgotten talent, the life I had given up. Without a word, I walked past them, my shoulder brushing against his. I grabbed the portfo