The ring sat in the back of your drawer now, tucked away in the velvet box Spencer had nervously cracked open more than a year ago in the middle of the park where you’d had your first date. He’d been shaking so hard he nearly dropped the ring, his cheeks flushed as he stumbled over his words. It had been perfect in its imperfection, just like him. Spencer had always been a beautiful mess—overthinking, overanalyzing, but always so full of love it seemed to spill out of him in the little things: the way he memorized your coffee order, the post-it notes he left on your books with little facts about your favorite authors, the way he held you like he’d never let go.

But that Spencer felt like a ghost now, replaced by someone quieter, more distant. He sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees.

“We should talk about the wedding.” Your voice cut through the quiet like a blade. He didn’t move.

“Things change,” he said flatly, his eyes still locked on the floor.

“That’s all you have to say?” you asked, stepping closer, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation. “Things change? You planned everything, Spencer. You couldn’t stop talking about the flowers, the venue, the song for our first dance. And now you don’t even want to talk about it?”

Finally, he looked up at you, but his eyes were colder than you’d ever seen them. “Because I don’t want it anymore.”

The words hit you like a slap. You blinked, trying to process what he’d just said. “What?”

His voice became sharp and biting as if he looked at you. “I don’t want this wedding. I don’t want to get married. I don’t want you.”

The room spun. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest. Before you could say something he kept on talking, as his tone was cruel now. “I’m not the man you said yes to. You were in love with someone who doesn’t exist anymore— the man who could quote Shakespeare and bake cookies and make you laugh at two in the morning. Well, flash news: that man doesn’t exist anymore.”