The moment Alexander turned and sprinted toward the exit, my fingers were still tightly gripping our two boarding passes to San Francisco.

This was the seventh time in five years he had abandoned me for someone else.

Five years ago, I crossed the country and moved to New York for him, standing by his side as he climbed the ranks to become one of the city's most respected psychiatrists.

We had promised to go home together this Christmas. He broke his word. Again.

"Grace, Sophie has no family. Right now, I'm all she has..."

"I'm sorry. I'll catch the next flight, I swear."

With that, he turned and ran frantically toward the airport doors.

I stood frozen, staring down at the tickets in my hand.

He always gave everything to save others.

But the collateral damage was always me.

Slowly, I tore his boarding pass to shreds.

He would never understand that some missed flights could never be rebooked.

~~~~~

I flew back to my childhood home in San Francisco alone.

When my mother saw the empty space behind me, her face instantly darkened.

My father sat on the couch, looking more haggard and aged than I remembered.

The words they had spoken five years ago when I insisted on moving to New York echoed in my ears—

"If you insist on moving to New York, we won't give you a dime. You chose this path, and you'll bear the consequences."

Now, I had returned empty-handed.

I turned my phone back on. A flood of messages from Alexander instantly overwhelmed the screen.

"Grace, I'm sorry. Please wait for me."

"She's stable. I'm booking a flight now."

"Pick up. At least let me explain."

I didn't answer a single call. I didn't reply to a single text.

By the next evening, Alexander showed up at my parents' door, standing outside and refusing to leave.

"Grace. Five minutes. I'm just begging for five minutes."

His voice was completely hoarse.

My parents didn't open the door, only telling him through the wood to leave.

His hands shook as he held up his phone.

"Look—I officially transferred Sophie's care to Dr. Morgan. I followed the hospital's transfer of care protocol. We've drawn a hard line."

He took a sharp, ragged breath.

"I messed up. I never should have left you alone at the airport."

"Grace, I can't lose you."

Muffled by the heavy door, his voice was faint, but it pulled me back to those brutal New York winters—our cramped basement apartment in Queens. When the radiator broke, he would stay up all night, warming my freezing feet with his bare hands, whispering over and over that he would never let me regret choosing him.

Back then, he worked himself to the bone just to prove to my parents that he wasn't a mistake.

"Everything I do, I do for us. For our future family."

A sudden wave of nausea hit me so hard my stomach churned. I bolted to the bathroom and threw up.

The mirror reflected a ghost-pale face. My period was nearly two weeks late.

This baby felt like the very last, fraying thread holding us together.

I walked out of the bathroom.

Alexander looked exhausted, utterly consumed by guilt. His apology seemed so incredibly genuine.

I looked away. The rejection on the tip of my tongue was swallowed back down.

For the sake of our five years together, and for the child growing inside me.

I spoke, my voice sounding unbearably tired even to my own ears.

"Alexander, I'll give you one more chance. The absolute last one."

My parents watched in disbelief as I left with him once again.

On the flight back to New York, he gripped my hand so tightly, as if terrified I would vanish if he let go.

But I just stared blankly out the window. He held my hand, but I didn't have the strength to squeeze back.