Part 2Her Other Marriage Certificate

I don’t know how I managed to leave that place.

I pulled the car over to the side of the road, leaned back in the driver’s seat, and lit a cigarette. The sharp, minty scent of the capsule I’d crushed filled the small space. I closed my eyes and laughed, a bitter, broken sound.

I don’t even like smoking.

But the acrid smoke stung my eyes, giving me an excuse for the tears that streamed down my face. Chloe’s words echoed in my head.

“I lost him once. I can’t lose him again!”

“I’m going to be his wife. I love him!”

Chloe and I were born in the same hospital, just hours apart. We were the definition of childhood sweethearts. Our fathers co-founded what is now the country’s largest electronics corporation. She was the one person I had always, unabashedly, adored.

If the story had ended there, it would have been a perfect happy ending.

But then, in high school, Cole appeared.

He was a transfer student with bleached-blond hair and a swaggering, devil-may-care attitude. To Chloe, who had always been a rule-follower, he was an irresistible anomaly. He was the first boy to ever make her blush when he told her he liked her.

Her grades plummeted. Just as she was about to fall completely under his spell, her father found out. He gave Cole’s family a substantial sum of money to send him abroad, and just like that, my story with Chloe was back on track.

But who could have guessed that a ghost from a decade ago could reappear and shatter our eleven-year love story so completely?

Three months ago, during a meteor shower, I had shouted at the heavens, “I, Lucas Hayes, will never marry anyone but Chloe Collins!”

And she had shouted back, “I, Chloe Collins, will never marry anyone but Lucas Hayes!”

That night, we made promises under a blanket of stars, pledging our lives to each other.

I never thought the person I loved most in the world would be the one to drive a knife into my heart. Over and over again, like a slow, deliberate execution.

I was down to my last cigarette. I got out of the car to walk to a convenience store just as a light rain began to fall. The street was full of couples in matching red outfits, holding hands and laughing as they ran for cover. They were soaked, but they were happy.

I didn’t run. I had no home to run to anymore.

My phone rang. Chloe.

I rejected the call without a second thought.

She called again.

I rejected it again.

Finally, I just turned the phone off. I didn’t know how to face her. Should I yell? Accuse her? The weight of twenty-seven years of memories paralyzed me.

After what felt like an eternity, a soft voice broke through my stupor. “It’s raining so hard. You should find some shelter. You’ll catch a cold.”

I flinched. The rain wasn’t hitting me anymore. I slowly looked up. Chloe was standing beside me, holding an umbrella over my head.

I instinctively took a step back. I would rather feel the icy sting of the autumn rain than accept the warmth of her pity.

She followed me, keeping the umbrella over me. Her eyes were red, full of a painful tenderness. She gently took the cigarette from my fingers and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “You should smoke less. It’s bad for you.”

“What’s it to you? Who are you to me?”

I moved away again. I took out another cigarette, but she snatched it away before I could light it.

“Do you want me to die of a broken heart?” she whispered, taking off her own jacket and draping it over my shoulders.

Our eyes met, and for a dizzying moment, I was lost. How I wished none of this had ever happened.

“Have you eaten?”

I shook my head, numb, still clinging to the ghost of her tenderness.

Back at the apartment, she immediately ladled a bowl of hot soup and handed it to me. “Here, drink this. Warm yourself up before you get sick.”

I didn’t take it.

I just stared at the girl I had cherished my entire life, the girl I had devoted my past to. A storm of emotions churned inside me, and I could barely control it. After a long moment, I managed to steady my voice, my heart a frozen lake. “Chloe, let’s break up.”

Her hand jerked. Hot soup splashed onto her skin.

Before, I would have rushed to get a napkin, to soothe the burn.

This time, I just sat there, motionless.

Finally, her lips began to tremble. Her voice was a choked, tearful whisper. “Lucas, are you still mad about me and Cole getting the license today?”

“Please don’t be mad, okay? He only has three months left. After three months, as long as we still love each other…”

“Don’t say another word!”

I wrenched my hand away, my face a cold mask. “Miss Collins, you are now legally married to another man. You are his wife. So please,” I said, my voice dripping with ice, “have some self-respect.”