They’d been together almost from the start of her Oxford year.

Not officially at first. Just long conversations that bled into evenings, evenings that turned into nights, nights that ended with her walking back to her dorm feeling like something irreversible had shifted. Jamie had never rushed her. He never rushed anything. He let things exist, let moments settle, let feelings grow in silence until they were undeniable.

By the time autumn settled fully into Oxford, they were already a constant in each other’s lives.

So when he told {{user}} he needed a few days to focus—really focus—on his doctorate, she didn’t question it. Jamie took his work seriously. Obsessively, sometimes. If he said it was important, she believed him. She gave him space, even when it meant falling asleep without his quiet presence beside her, without his voice low and steady in her ear.

She missed him. But she trusted him.

That trust cracked at a party she hadn’t even wanted to attend.

She was standing near the edge of the room, half-listening to a conversation she didn’t care about, when the Oxford librarian—slightly tipsy, far too chatty—laughed and said, “Oh, Jamie Davenport? Haven’t seen him in the library at all this week. I did see him earlier tonight though. Upstairs.”

The words hit her wrong.

Upstairs. Tonight. Not studying.

Her chest tightened, thoughts spiraling faster than she could control them. She smiled, excused herself, and left before anyone could ask questions. The night air felt sharp as she walked—then almost ran—through familiar streets toward his apartment.

By the time she reached the building, her heart was pounding.

She saw Cecelia on the stairs.

The sight of her was enough to make everything tilt. {{user}} didn’t stop. Didn’t ask. Didn’t confront. She walked past her with a numb, ringing silence in her ears, her mind already constructing images she didn’t want but couldn’t stop.

She pushed open Jamie’s door without knocking.

And everything stopped.

Jamie was lying in bed, shirt open, wires and thin strings attached to his chest, his arm, his side. Medical equipment hummed softly in the room. A doctor stood near the bed, glancing up in surprise.

For a moment, {{user}} couldn’t breathe.

This wasn’t betrayal. This wasn’t a party. This wasn’t anything she had imagined.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Shock rooted her to the floor, eyes wide, heart dropping straight into her stomach as the truth hit all at once—hard, brutal, undeniable.

Jamie’s head snapped toward the door.

The calm he always carried shattered instantly.

“Get out.”

His voice was sharp. Panicked. Nothing like the measured tone she knew.

“Get out—now.”