Chapter 2: The Night I Walked Away

At the class reunion five years ago, Rachel and I hadn’t broken up yet.

That day was the day after I proposed to Rachel.

She was completely drunk, slumped over the table at the sports bar, mumbling nonsense.

The bar was a staple in our college town, its walls lined with faded memorabilia and neon beer signs. Rachel's head rested on her folded arms, her cheeks flushed from too many rounds of celebratory shots. Our friends huddled around, laughter echoing off the sticky tabletops and the flat-screen TV tuned to a basketball game we weren't really watching.

Everyone was teasing me because of her.

“I’ve never seen Rachel this drunk before. Tell us the truth, did you two have a fight?”

“Come on, Derek spoils her. He wouldn’t dare argue with Rachel.”

“That’s right, Derek waited a whole seven years before Rachel agreed to marry him. I think she’s just too happy, that’s why she drank so much.”

I really couldn’t take it anymore.

“Alright, knock it off, you guys,” I smiled and took the wine glass from Rachel’s hand. “The wedding’s in a few months. There’ll be plenty to do then. It’s rare to have a relaxed day like this—let her enjoy herself.”

I glanced around, catching the bartender's knowing smirk as he slid another basket of fries onto our table. It felt like everyone was rooting for us, watching our story unfold like some kind of small-town fairy tale.

“Oh, how romantic.”

“Geez, such devotion.”

“Rachel made the right choice in the end—she really found a treasure.”

I glanced at Rachel, passed out on the table, and thoughtfully took off my jacket, draping it over her shoulders.

The room was warm, but Rachel always got cold when she drank, and seeing her shiver even in her tipsy sleep made me smile. Her hair was splayed across the table, and I brushed a lock out of her face before carefully tucking the jacket around her.

Just like my friends said, Rachel and I had been together for seven years, finally about to see our relationship bear fruit.

I gently pinched her cheek. “Little drunk, wake up, let’s go home.”

Rachel mumbled, nuzzling my hand like a child. “Caleb, stop it...”

The name hung in the air, heavy and wrong.

Caleb...

Caleb Johnson.

Rachel’s ex-boyfriend.