My fiancé said, “Don’t call me your future husband.” I nodded. That night, I quietly removed my name from every guest list he’d made. Two days later, he walked into lunch and froze at what waited on his chair.

I nodded toward his chair.

He stepped closer, saw the envelope, and stopped.

Adrian didn’t open it immediately.

Men like him fear paper more than raised voices.

“Is this supposed to be some kind of scene?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Scenes require an audience worth impressing.”

Vivienne stiffened.

“How dare you speak to him that way?”

I turned to her.

“Like a man accountable for his own choices?”

Camille snatched the envelope and tore it open. Her eyes moved quickly over the pages, then faster. The color drained from her face.

Adrian ripped the papers from her hands.

“What is this?”

“The ending,” I said.