Chapter 1

A week before college move-in, Drew finally returned from his summer graduation trip.

The souvenirs he brought back covered almost every flat surface in our living room. His eyes crinkled with easy, golden-boy charm as he picked up a breezy floral beach dress, holding it against my frame to gauge the fit.

"Lauren, I know Daisy had that little slip-up and only booked two plane tickets, so you missed out on the coast. But I swear, I was thinking about you the whole time."

He smiled, leaning in. "The salt spray at sunset, the scuba diving, that seaside boutique styling studio you bookmarked… Next break, I’m taking you. I promise. I’ll make it up to you."

I took a deliberate step backward, letting his hand drop into empty air.

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary."

"Not necessary?" Drew let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his sun-bleached hair. His voice took on that practiced, paternal patience he always defaulted to. "Come on, Lauren. I know you’re still sulking, but Daisy didn’t do it on purpose. She's an airhead. You know how she gets."

He pulled his phone from his pocket, eager to steer the conversation into safer waters. "Weren’t you dying for us to move in together once classes started? I signed the lease on that two-bedroom near campus. Decorated the whole place just the way you wanted. Look. Aren't you surprised?"

He thrust the screen in front of my face, his eyes begging for praise.

I looked down at the photo.

Warm butter-yellow drapes. A cluster of plump succulents on a sunlit balcony. An off-white linen sofa just wide enough for two people to curl into.

It was an exact replica of the sanctuary I had spent months sketching in my journal.

Except that was then.

I glanced over at the heavy woolen overcoat I was carefully folding into my open suitcase, and offered him a faint, bloodless smile.

He had no idea.

The afternoon he chose to leave me behind at the gate and board that flight with Daisy, I logged into the university portal and declined my admission offer.

No sun-drenched coastal campus in the Northern Hemisphere. No shared beach house. No Drew.

I was heading to the Southern Hemisphere.

To an Australian winter where he would never be able to reach me.

…

"I want to break up, Drew."

My voice was quiet, steady enough that it surprised even me.

Drew didn’t flinch. He just rolled his eyes and blew out an exasperated breath—that familiar, condescending "here-we-go-again" look washing over his features.

"What is it this time? Still throwing a tantrum because you didn’t come on the trip?"

"Yes."

"Are you serious right now?"

"Completely."

Drew’s volume spiked, his patience snapping. "How many trips have you and I taken together since we were kids? Daisy has never even seen the ocean, Lauren! Is it really a crime that I took her to see the beach for once?"

"Is it?"

A dry, bitter laugh caught in my throat. I snatched the garish sundress off the floor and held it up between us like evidence.

"Where did this come from?"

Drew gave it a careless glance. "A beachside stall when we were walking on the boardwalk."

Expected.

I picked up the designer skincare bag next to it. "And this?"

"Daisy mentioned duty-free had great deals, so while I was trailing after her in the terminal, I grabbed a set for you."

My throat burned, thick with swallowed tears. "And that boutique photo studio? The one I spent three weeks trying to get reservations for?"

"Daisy did a shoot there and it looked great, so I had them put you down for a session next month." Drew crossed his arms, his irritation deepening, as though I were an ungrateful child kicking a gift horse in the mouth. "I went out of my way to set that up for you."

The tears finally broke, hot and humiliating against my cheeks.

"Right," I whispered. "So while you were picking out these crumbs for me, you were living out my entire itinerary with Daisy. "I" built that schedule from scratch. "I" packed your bags. And then you abandoned your girlfriend at the curb to play hero for an outsider."

I let the dress drop to the hardwood floor.

"And now you expect me to drop to my knees and thank you for your leftovers? That’s not how love works, Drew."

Seeing the raw grief in my eyes, Drew’s arrogant stance finally cracked. A sudden panic flickered across his face. He lunged forward, gathering me into his arms, his voice softening into that frantic, cajoling register he used whenever he pushed me too far.

"I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think about it like that, Lauren. I swear."

He stroked my hair, his chest heaving against mine. "If I hadn’t looked after Daisy, she wouldn’t have even found her way out of the airport. She’s helpless. But you—you’ve always been independent, Lauren. You don't need hand-holding. Besides, we’re going to the same college. We have the rest of our lives to see the ocean."

I wiped the moisture from my cheeks and peeled his arms off me.

"Independent."

Because I was capable, I was always the one expected to yield.

When Daisy showed up at the wrong testing center during finals, Drew abandoned our breakfast plans to drive across town to rescue her, never once asking if I had a ride.

When Daisy forgot her pencil case, Drew casually handed her the vintage engraved pen my grandfather had gifted me for academic luck.

When Daisy cried that she had never had a real birthday party, Drew dragged her up to the cake at my eighteenth birthday celebration, urging her to blow out my candles alongside me.

To Drew, Daisy was the fragile, adorable stray who needed saving. I was just Lauren—the self-sufficient girl who was being "difficult" and "petty."

His loyalty hadn’t shifted all at once; it had eroded in a hundred small moments where he chose her comfort over my dignity.

"I’m not going to the same college as you, Drew," I said, my voice cold and flat.

He caught my wrists, laughing under his breath with supreme, infuriating confidence. "Stop talking crazy. You’ve never gone a single day without me your entire life."

Before the sentence could finish echoing through the quiet apartment, the front door clicked open.

Daisy peered around the frame, her big, round eyes wide with manufactured innocence. Her gaze flicked toward me, but settled entirely on Drew.

"Lauren... I'm so sorry. Am I interrupting?" She bit her lower lip, clutching her tote bag. "I can't find my driver’s license. I think it got mixed up in your luggage, Drew."

Drew dropped my wrists instantly, stepping away as if stung.

He gave Daisy an affectionate, fond shake of his head, tapping her lightly on the forehead with his knuckles. "You little disaster. The suitcase is right by your feet. You can't even look for yourself?"

"Sorry..." Daisy flushed, dropping to her knees.

Her fingers moved across the three-digit combination lock with practiced ease. "Spin, spin, click."

She knew the code by heart.

The zipper parted, and the hardshell case fell open.

A pale pink lace bralette—sheer, delicate, and undeniably Daisy’s—tumbled out, landing face-up on the dark rug between us.

The air in the room turned to ice.

The easy grin froze on Drew’s face. He reached down instinctively to grab it, then hesitated, his face flushing crimson. When he looked up at me, his words tripped over themselves in a panic.

"Lauren—wait, don’t get the wrong idea! It’s not what it looks like! Daisy and I, we didn't—"

"I’m not getting any ideas," I interrupted, forcing my lips into a paper-thin smile.

I turned my back on them. But the moment I faced away, a heavy tear slipped down my chin, hot and silent.

How far had it actually gone?

The same hotel? The same room? The same bed?

How intimate do two people have to be before her undergarments casually migrate into his suitcase?

It didn’t matter anymore. After this week, we would be strangers living on different continents.

"Lauren, please..."

Drew seemed unnerved by my silence. He stepped toward me, but his eyes darted nervously back to the open luggage, terrified of what else might be nestled between his folded shirts. Panicking, he grabbed Daisy by the elbow with one hand, hoisted the suitcase with the other, and practically backed out into the hallway.

"I'll explain everything later, I swear. Daisy really needs her ID for an appointment. Our parents have that dinner reservation tonight—I’ll pick you up at six. Wait for me, Lauren! You have to wait for me!"

The door slammed shut, his hurried footsteps fading down the corridor.

I didn't turn around.

My eyes rested on the bookshelf across the room. Framed there was a photograph of the two of us at five years old, playing dress-up in my grandmother’s backyard. Drew was wearing his father’s oversized blazer, holding a linen tea towel like a wedding veil over my pigtails.

"I’m the dad, you’re the mom," he had declared with fierce toddler solemnity. "When we grow up, we’re getting married. Forever."

Our parents had taken the picture, laughing, and sealed the running joke of a betrothal over dinner that night.

I had spent thirteen years preserving that promise, treating it like holy scripture.

I picked up the silver frame, pulled the photograph out, and dropped it into the wastebasket beside my desk.

Then I returned to my bed, neatly stacking my winter coats into the luggage.

My parents walked down the stairs a moment later. My mother took one look at the hollow set of my shoulders and stepped into the room, her voice soft with maternal intuition.

"Lauren? Are you really sure about declining the state university offer?"

I leaned into her, resting my forehead against her shoulder. "I'm sure, Mom."

"Should we mention it at dinner tonight? To his parents?"

I glanced toward the trash can. For a split second, I thought of the childhood photo. But all my mind could conjure was that scrap of pink lace lying on the floor.

It smothered every childhood memory. It erased every future I had ever drafted for us.

"No," I whispered. "Let's not make a scene."

Let the girl who was always "throwing tantrums" simply vanish from his life.

...

When we arrived at the private dining room, both families were already seated. The only empty chair was the one beside mine.

"Where on earth is that boy?" Drew's father checked his watch, frowning good-naturedly. "Lauren, didn't he text you where he was?"

Everyone at the table turned to look at me.

It had always been this way. Drew was reckless, bold, and stubborn, but his one absolute rule had been me. He hated seeing me upset; he hated being unreachable if I needed him. Wherever he went, whatever he did, he checked in with me first. For over a decade, if Drew’s parents couldn’t find him, they asked me.

Tonight, looking at the expectant faces around the table, that ten-year tradition shattered.

"I don't know," I said quietly, shaking my head. "I really have no idea where he is."

The table went quiet. Sensing an awkward tension, Drew’s mother laughed quickly to smooth it over. "Well, he’s certainly getting a talking-to when he walks through that door. Lauren, you make sure you keep him in line!"

Small talk resumed, the clink of silverware filling the void.

Under the table, my phone buzzed. I glanced down.

Daisy had just posted on her Instagram story.

A photo of a local boba café, showing dozens of drink carriers stacked on the counter.

"I am the absolute clumsiest person alive. Handed a customer dairy milk by mistake and almost sent them to the ER with an allergy flare-up! Thank god Drew came to the rescue. He bought out a hundred drinks to hand out to the crowd as an apology on my behalf."

In the comments, mutual high school classmates were already cooing:

"Omg, boyfriend goals?? Since when are you guys dating?!"

"Drew always said you needed a bodyguard or you'd accidentally hurt yourself. Guess he wasn't kidding!"

My vision blurred.

Beside me, my mother had seen the screen over my shoulder. Her jaw tightened, her hands gripping the edge of the tablecloth as she moved to stand up, but I caught her wrist under the table, squeezing hard.

"Mom," I whispered, my voice trembling. "That childhood pact was just a joke anyway, right?"

My mother’s eyes brimmed with fierce, aching pity. "Lauren... can you really treat thirteen years of loving someone like a joke?"

I went still.

It hurt. It felt like someone had driven a dull blade beneath my ribs and twisted.

But then I remembered the way Drew had hauled his suitcase and hurried out the door this afternoon, calling out that careless, offhand "Wait for me."

I nodded slowly. "Yes. I can."

He had said "wait for me" a thousand times.

He told me to wait at the school gates, then doubled back because Daisy had missed the city bus.

He told me to wait at my favorite bistro, then disappeared to drop off a coffee Daisy had forgotten at home.

He told me to hold our seats at the theater, then spent the entire second act crawling through the parking lot trying to find Daisy’s lost hair clip.

I had spent my youth waiting. I was the clock ticking on an empty wall, the meal going cold on the table, the popcorn turning stale in the dark.

I was there, technically. But I had become completely superfluous.

Halfway through the main course, Drew burst into the dining room, out of breath and flushed. Dodging his father’s half-hearted scolding, he slid into the empty seat beside me with an easy, charming grin.

"I told you I was coming to pick you up. Why didn't you wait?"

"Was there any point?" I asked, cutting a piece of chicken without looking at him.

His smile faltered. "What?"

"You told me you'd come," I said, meeting his startled eyes. "And then Daisy called. She locked herself out, or took a wrong turn, or forgot her umbrella. Her emergencies are always more urgent than my entire life. So tell me, Drew—would you have actually shown up on time? Of course not."

I set my cloth napkin on the table and stood up, giving his parents a polite, composed nod.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dawson, dinner was lovely. If you'll excuse me, I need to go home and finish packing."

"Oh, move-in is next week!" Drew’s mother smiled warmly. "Drew, go with her. Help her pack up her boxes."

I opened my mouth to decline, but Drew pushed back his chair immediately, his voice edged with defensive authority. "I’ve got it, Mom. I'll drive her."

The ride home was suffocating.

I kept my face turned toward the passenger window, watching the streetlights bleed across the glass. Every time his hand crept toward the center console to touch mine, I pulled away.

Three blocks from my house, his phone began to play an obnoxious, cheerful pop tune—the specific custom ringtone he had assigned to Daisy.

Drew answered with a hushed "Hey," but within two seconds, his voice spiked with panic.

"What?! Where are you? Stay right there, I'm coming to get you!"

He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. "Pull over!" he barked at the rideshare driver.

Before the car had even completely halted, Drew turned to me, his face tight with frantic impatience. "Lauren, get out here. It’s only a block to your porch!"

The sudden braking threw me forward, my forehead cracking hard against the headrest in front of me.

A sudden, white-hot fury ignited in my chest.

"Why do you always have to drop everything for her?" I snapped, clutching my head. "Why do I have to walk? I was the one you were driving home!"

A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes, but it was instantly snuffed out by his righteous irritation.

"Lauren, Daisy's parents have been going through an ugly divorce for months. Neither of them wants her. Her dad literally just threw her bags onto the lawn and locked her out!"

He ran a hand over his face. "She has nowhere to go. I'm letting her crash at our rental until classes start, and once the studio next door is renovated, she’ll move over there. Is that so terrible?"

My ears rang. I picked up the fatal slip of his tongue.

"She... went to the same university as us?"

Drew’s face paled. He stammered, caught in his own lie. "Yeah. I was going to tell you on move-in day. She's so scatterbrained, Lauren, I was terrified she’d get taken advantage of if she went somewhere alone."

"So when you spent three weeks secretly touring apartments," I whispered, the absurdity of it hitting me like a physical blow, "you weren't setting up a place for us. You were moving her in next door to you."

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but the phone in his lap began to vibrate violently again with Daisy’s name flashing across the screen. Exhausted by my resistance, he leaned over and shoved the passenger door open.

"Fine! Yes! Are you happy now? Just get out!"

The last remaining ember of childhood affection turned to ash.

I stepped out onto the curb without a word and slammed the door shut behind me.

Drew called my name through the open window—a sharp, startled shout—but the car lurched forward and disappeared into the night.

I walked home under the hum of the streetlights.

Upstairs in my room, I systematically gathered every artifact of our relationship. The matching university hoodies. The promise ring he had saved up for in tenth grade. The oversized stuffed bear from the carnival.

I stuffed them all into heavy black trash bags and hauled them down to the curb.

Over the next four days, Daisy made herself comfortable in the apartment Drew had promised was ours.

Drew called me constantly. Not to apologize, but to run through logistical formalities, his tone breezy and casual.

"Hey Lauren, Daisy’s allergic to wool. Can we swap out that living room rug you picked?"

"Go ahead."

"Lauren, Daisy accidentally dropped that ceramic mug set you liked. Can I order a replacement?"

"Whatever you want."

"Lauren, Daisy can't fit into your spare slippers. Mind if I pick up a pair for her to keep by the door?"

"Sure."

Through her endless Instagram stories, I watched the apartment transform. The subtle, elegant textures I had spent months curating were replaced by bubblegum-pink cushions, cartoon trinkets, and clutter.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I even tapped the little heart icon on her posts.

It was only on the morning of my departure that Drew seemed to sense the chilling silence behind my compliance.

On the phone, his voice sounded strained, threaded with a nervous edge. "Lauren... you picked all those furnishings yourself. Why aren't you mad at me?"

"Mad?"

I let out a soft laugh as I handed my boarding pass to the gate agent.

Why waste fury on a stranger?

"There's no point," I said smoothly. "Just take good care of her."

A massive wave of relief washed through the receiver. "Lauren, hearing you say that means the world to me. I knew you'd understand. I'll be waiting for you at the campus gates tomorrow. I... I really miss you."

I smiled silently, pulled the phone from my ear, and ended the call.

Then, with three deliberate taps, I blocked his number and deleted his contact.

I hugged my parents tightly at the terminal boundary, wheeled my carry-on down the jet bridge, and settled into my window seat.

As the twin engines roared and the plane lifted above the clouds, heading south toward Melbourne, the curtain closed on the grand theater of my youth.

Drew could wait at the gates forever.

He would never see me again.