The breakup was inevitable—or at least, that’s what they told themselves when doubt crept in. It had always been reactionary, the relationship itself a reflex rather than a choice. Georgia had died nine months ago, leaving Max and Luna without a wife and mother.

Then Max’s cancer came back. The stress of the job was suffocating. And when he needed something—someone—to hold onto, she was there.

At first, it was just physical. That’s what they told themselves, too. But it had been a whirlwind, overwhelming, consuming. Over before it even had a chance to begin.

It’s better this way, they repeated when the doubt crept in.

But then she was late. And even then, they didn’t let it pull them back together.

They ignored it for as long as they could.

Until the cramping started.

Until the bleeding.

She told Lauren first—just to tell someone. And of course, Lauren told Max.

It wasn’t just spotting.

An ectopic pregnancy.

And suddenly, the one thing tethering them together—the thing neither of them had been ready to acknowledge—was severed.

He sits beside her when she’s admitted, silent, eyes fixed on her like she might disappear if he looks away.

Because for the first time, there’s nothing left to say.