I returned our home while he toured with her novel Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I canceled the Newlywed Private Residence. Glen Peterson, the agent, looked stunned.

“The down payment’s already made. You’re not waiting for your fiancé to come back and sign together?”

I smiled and set the keys on the desk. “No. He’s still off showing his first love around Mount Fuji.”

We’d been together five years. Every winter, he flew to Japan.

He called it a business trip, but his social media showed the snowy peak of Mount Fuji.

Whenever I asked when he’d take me on our honeymoon, he’d say, “Next time.”

Until yesterday, when I found his old camera left at home. Dozens of photos.

Same woman, same angle, same backdrop.

Cherry blossoms, white snow, Mount Fuji.

The only long trip he ever took with me was to the next city to look at the Newlywed

Private Residence.

He held my hand and said, “Look, we don’t need all that romantic crap. Let’s just focus

on building something real, you and me.”

I believed him.

At the signing, I stared at the home I’d renovated by myself-and suddenly broke down,

sobbing.

Glen carefully handed me the pen. “Are you still canceling the purchase?”

I wiped my tears and smiled. “Yes.”

My resignation had already been approved. This was my last night in the city.

Mount Fuji wasn’t coming to me. But I could walk away.

***

Mia Bennett called the second I walked out of the agency. “Wren, you really canceled it?”

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“Yeah.”

“You put down the whole down payment by yourself, and you just canceled it? On your

own?”

“Yeah.”

“Does Kyler know?”

“He’s in Japan.”

“Business trip?”

I didn’t answer. Mia went quiet for two seconds.

“Did you tell him?”

“No.”

“Wren, even if you had a fight, you can’t just cancel the house-”

“I found dozens of photos on his old camera. Same woman, same mountain, five years’

worth.”

Silence on the line.

“Seraphina?”

“Yeah.”

“Are

you sure you’re not reading this wrong?”

“Have you ever heard of a business trip where a guy takes photos of the same woman

for five years straight?”

Mia didn’t say anything else.

I hung up and drove back to my rental apartment. On the way, Kyler sent a message. A

photo.

Hot cocoa in a white ceramic mug, a little deer painted on the side. Caption: [Tokyo’s

snowing. Freezing my ass off.]

I recognized that mug. Last winter he sent a shot just like it, same angle, same

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composition. I asked him what café it was, and he said he’d just wandered in, couldn’t

remember.

But the old camera had a photo. Seraphina sat in the same shop, the same hot cocoa by her hand, smiling at the lens. A burgundy cashmere scarf I’d never seen.

Five years. Every winter, the same shop, the same hot cocoa, the same person.

And all he ever sent me were photos of food and scenery. Never a person in them.

Back at my apartment, I bent down to change my shoes and glanced at the rack. Next to

Kyler’s sneakers sat a pair of white canvas sneakers. US size 5. I wore size 7.

I crouched and lifted the insole. Inside was a sticky note. “Ky, wear these next time. The last pair gave you blisters.”

that.

Ky. Five years together, and I’d never known he had a nickname. He never let me call him

I put the shoes back and walked into the bedroom. His laptop was still on, screen glowing. A travel booking page, Hokkaido, departing February 14th, a two-person hot spring

package with a private onsen and kaiseki cuisine. In the notes: [Sera’s birthday gift.]

Seraphina’s birthday was February 15th. Mine was March 9th.

Last March 9th, I asked if we could have dinner together that night. He said he had a business dinner. I waited until eleven and got a text: [Just got home. You asleep? Happy birthday. I’ll make it up to you later.]

Later. Same as “next time.” Never happened.

I opened the cloud photo album on his phone. Over three thousand photos. Eleven of

1. Seven from our first year together. Four from the next four years.

There was a folder named “Tokyo Snow.” I opened it. All Seraphina. In a kimono, stepping through snow, hands pressed together at a shrine. Every shot perfectly framed, soft lighting, like a magazine spread.

But when he took pictures of me, it was always a careless snap. No angle, no light.

I said to him once, “Can you take one decent picture of me? Just one?” He said, “They’re just pictures. Don’t read so much into it.”

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Don’t read so much into it. The four words he said to me the most.

My phone rang-Kyler’s video call. I picked up. He was in a gray coat, hotel hallway

behind him.

“Did you eat?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. Three p.m. flight.”

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