Updated Feb 23, 2026 • ~5 min read
POV: Rory
Two days after the kiss, I hire movers.
I’m getting my things out of that house.
Every piece of furniture I brought. Every dish. Every memory.
Gone.
Dominic’s called forty-seven times.
I haven’t answered once.
He texts: “Please talk to me.”
Me: “There’s nothing to say. I’m moving out. You can have the house.”
Dominic: “It’s OUR house.”
Me: “It’s YOURS. You and Celeste’s. I don’t want it anymore.”
Dominic: “Rory, that kiss didn’t mean anything—”
Me: “It meant everything. And we both know it.”
I block him.
The movers arrive at noon.
I’m there with Priya, directing them.
“That couch. Those chairs. The kitchen table. All of it.”
Halfway through, Dominic shows up.
He looks wrecked. Unshaven. Eyes red.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“What does it look like? I’m moving out.”
“You can’t just—”
“Watch me.”
“This is your home too—”
“No. It WAS my home. Now it’s just a building where my husband kissed another woman.”
“Rory, please. Can we talk?”
“We have nothing to talk about.”
“We have EVERYTHING to talk about!”
Priya steps between us.
“She doesn’t want to talk to you. Respect that.”
“This is between me and my wife—”
“I’m not your wife,” I interrupt. “Celeste is. You made that clear.”
“One kiss doesn’t erase three years—”
“It erases my trust. It erases my belief that you’d choose me. It erases everything.”
The movers carry out our bed.
The bed we bought together. Slept in together. Made love in.
Dominic watches it go. His face crumples.
“Where are you taking all this?”
“Storage unit. Until I find an apartment.”
“Stay at our—the house. I’ll leave. I’ll go to a hotel.”
“I don’t want the house. I told you. Keep it. You and Celeste can make new memories there.”
“I don’t want to make memories with her—”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
By three PM, the house is half empty.
All my things gone.
Only Dominic’s furniture remains.
And Celeste’s walker in the corner.
Physical proof of who really belongs here.
“I’m done,” I tell the movers. “Thank you.”
They load the last box.
I stand in the empty living room.
This was supposed to be our forever.
Now it’s just a place I used to live.
Dominic appears in the doorway.
“Don’t leave like this,” he says quietly.
“How should I leave? Happy? Grateful?”
“I made a mistake—”
“You made a CHOICE. To kiss her. To not push her away immediately. To prioritize her feelings over mine for weeks. Those were all choices.”
“I was confused—”
“No. You were guilty. And guilt made you cruel. To me. To her. To yourself.”
“I love you.”
“Maybe you do. But you love her too. Or you love the idea of fixing what you lost. Either way, I can’t be with someone who can’t let go of his past.”
“I can let go—”
“Can you? Really? Because from where I stand, you’re still holding on with both hands.”
He doesn’t argue.
Can’t argue.
Because it’s true.
I walk to the door.
“Court is in four days,” I say. “I’ll be there. But not to fight for us. To end this. Officially.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m withdrawing my petition for putative marriage. I’m accepting the annulment. You’re free to stay married to Celeste.”
“No. Rory, no—”
“It’s done, Dom. I’m letting you go.”
“I don’t WANT you to let me go—”
“Then you should have fought harder to keep me.”
I leave.
Walk out of that house for the last time.
Don’t look back.
Because if I look back, I’ll see him standing there broken.
And I’ll want to fix him.
But I can’t fix someone who keeps breaking himself.
That night, I’m at Priya’s when my lawyer calls.
“Rory, I heard. Are you sure about withdrawing the petition?”
“Yes.”
“This means the annulment goes through. Your marriage to Dominic is legally erased.”
“I know.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“I’m not okay with anything. But I’m done fighting a battle I can’t win.”
“Understood. I’ll file the paperwork tomorrow.”
After I hang up, Priya sits next to me.
“You’re really doing this?”
“I have to. He can’t choose. So I’m choosing for him.”
“By walking away.”
“By setting him free. And myself.”
“You still love him.”
“I’ll always love him. But love isn’t enough when the other person is still in love with someone else.”
My phone buzzes.
Dominic: “Please don’t withdraw the petition. Give me one more chance.”
I stare at the message.
One more chance.
How many chances has he had?
How many times have I waited for him to choose me?
How long am I supposed to fight for someone who won’t fight back?
I delete the message.
Don’t respond.
Because I’m done giving chances to someone who won’t take them.
I’m done being second choice.
I’m done.
END OF CHAPTER 16
Reader Reactions