I moved into the apartment above Tim's shop and cut all contact with Harlan.

He called constantly. I'd glance at his name and decline.


I couldn't bear to hear his voice—not yet.

But I underestimated his determination.

The shop was empty that Tuesday afternoon. I was behind the counter, half-watching a drama on my phone.


The bell jingled, and there stood Harlan, eyes bloodshot and desperate.

"Why did you disappear like that?" he demanded.


He lunged forward, grabbing me in a tight embrace despite my attempts to push him away.

I shoved him back hard, breaking his grip.

Then I smoothed my expression into a mask of calm.

"You're hurting me," I said softly, playing the fragile patient.

Harlan backed away, hands raised. "I'm sorry. I've been going crazy looking for you."

He still wanted to drag me back.

"Let me take you to a specialist," he pleaded. "I found an oncologist who's had success with experimental treatments."

"No."

"Why not?"

I frowned delicately, playing my trump card. "Vanessa told me I shouldn't burden you with my illness. She said it would be selfish to make you watch me die."

"She what?" Harlan's face drained of color.

I savored his shock while keeping my face carefully sad.

This jerk wanted to keep his reputation intact while also keeping his precious Vanessa.

Now that Saint Vanessa's halo had slipped, I wondered how he'd react.

Harlan hesitated. "She probably didn't mean it that way. You know how things get misinterpreted…"

Of course. His precious Vanessa could do no wrong.

Luckily, I had prepared for this.

I'd secretly recorded Vanessa's gloating on our anniversary night.

Time to play it.

I pulled out my phone, turned the volume to maximum, and hit play.

Harlan's expression morphed from confusion to shock to rage as Vanessa's cruel words filled the shop.

"You deserve better than me, Harlan," I said softly when the recording ended. "Go back to Vanessa. She's who you really want."

"Just let me face this alone."

Though Harlan no longer loved me, my performance would haunt him.

He'd never sleep peacefully again.

He reached for my face with pity in his eyes. Before I could pull away, the shop door burst open.

Tim stood there, eyes blazing.

In three quick strides, he crossed the room and drove his fist into Harlan's stomach.

Tim's daily gym routine had built impressive strength.

Harlan doubled over, gasping for air.

"Tim," I said calmly, "would you please show Mr. Sawyer out? I'm feeling tired."

A few more punches wouldn't hurt either.

Tim nodded, cracking his knuckles as he advanced on Harlan.

"Time to go."

Harlan backed toward the door, eyes darting between us.

"This isn't over," he called to me. "I'll find someone who can help you!"

With that, he scrambled out the door, nearly tripping over a display of dog toys.

I laughed bitterly.

As if I needed his help now.