THE PEONIES ON THE FLOOR WERE JUST THE BEGINNING OF A BRUTAL TRUTH

The screen glowed against Maya’s pale face in the dim lighting of the boutique’s fitting area. Her thumb hovered over the contact card labeled 'Corey - Do Not Open.' Three years of careful architecture—building a stable life, buying a townhouse, accepting Isaiah’s quiet, steady love—threatened to collapse into dust with a single tap.

Zoe stepped closer, her expression softening just a fraction, though the urgency in her red-haired frame remained razor-sharp. "You have to do it, Maya. You can't just stand there on that stupid mirror platform pretending the last five minutes didn't happen. Isaiah is gone. He walked out into the street. Did you see his eyes?"

"I saw them," Maya whispered, a tear finally breaking free and tracking hot down her cheek. "They weren't angry, Zoe. That's what scares me. People who are angry yell. Isaiah looked like he had already packed a suitcase in his mind."

"So call Corey," Zoe urged, gesturing frantically toward the phone. "See if he’s even single. See if he even remembers you the way you remember him. You built this whole narrative in your head about safety versus passion. Let’s test reality."

Maya took a deep, shuddering breath, tasting the metallic fear on her tongue. She pressed her thumb onto the screen. The call connected instantly, the silence on the line stretching out for three agonizing seconds before a deep, familiar voice spoke through the speaker.

"Hello?"

The sound of Corey’s voice hit Maya in the chest like a physical blow. It was richer than she remembered, older, yet carrying that exact same effortless gravity that used to make her forget her own name. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her throat felt completely constricted.

"Hello? Who is this?" Corey repeated, a hint of confusion edging into his tone.

Maya swallowed hard, tears blurring her vision until the reflections in the boutique mirror fractured into blinding points of light. "Corey... it's Maya."