After the breakup, Amy took me back to his place.

I regretted it days later. I searched online for relationship advice, paid for astrological readings, looking for confirmation that we were destined to be together.

I spent all my savings.

Three days later, I returned to our apartment.

Empty. He was gone.

I called, texted, endlessly.

At first: "Say sorry, and I’ll forgive you."

Then, begging. "Come back, I don't care about others, please don't leave me, you’re my only family."

Hysterical. "Where are you?! Are you dead?! Even breaking up needs a face-to-face!"

Then, just despair.

I pretended we were still together, sharing my days, even after I stopped messaging him.

I posted on social media, only visible to him.

I'd read, "Don't love too much, don't stay up too late."

I needed to keep some dignity.

Weekly posts, then monthly, then silence for half a year.

I even boasted to Amy, "See? I'm over him. I’ve let go."

Seeing him, my fortress crumbled.

I washed up, put on makeup, a nice dress, and dialed the number.

As if he could see me.

The dial tone echoed my racing heart.

My palms sweating, the phone finally rang. A deep voice.

"Sarah, what is it?"

My heart stopped.

He remembered my number. My voice cracked.

"I, uh… hit your car yesterday. How much? I’ll pay."

"No need."

His coldness was like treating a stranger.

My prepared speech vanished.

We were silent, he didn't hang up.

After a minute, I tried again. "I do owe you. I’m not irresponsible. Let’s meet."

Silence. I heard his heavy breathing.

"Bring your estimate."

"Fine."

A quiet cafe. I waited, staring out at the blue sky.

When will things be clear between us?

The scent of citrus pulled me back. Luke sat across from me.

A light beige outfit, sharp, no trace of the street punk from five years ago.

He handed me a document. "If you need to, you can pay in installments."

The estimate: over $5,000.

I scoffed. "Still generous, huh? Without my call, you’d really pay yourself?"

He didn't answer. "Money isn’t important to me."

Anger flared. I cried.

"Yeah, money isn't, but twenty years of love isn't either. What is? The thrill of a new girlfriend? The satisfaction of dumping someone who loved you?"

He watched me calmly, offering a tissue. "Don't."

His indifference choked my tears.

I chuckled, wiped my face, and smiled politely.

"Sorry, I lost it. I’m not as rich as you, let's exchange contact info. I'll pay in installments."

I offered my phone.

He didn’t take it, tapped his phone.

A text: his account number.

"Transfer here."

He left, leaving me shattered.

I called Amy.

"Lend me $5,000."

I wasn’t lying. I was broke.

An orphan, my dream was a home of my own.

I'd put a down payment on a house.

Monthly payments drained me, but I felt secure.

Amy sent the money.

I input Luke's number, then saw my lucky sun doll.

Our first anniversary gift.

He hoped my days would be sunny.

But I lived in a storm.

With a final burst of strength,

I reduced the amount by two zeros and transferred it.

How many "lasts" had I promised myself? Just one more try.

Maybe seeing the regular transfers, he’d remember, soften up.

After work, I was grabbed from behind, losing consciousness.

I woke up bound in a warehouse, a woman next to me.

A thug lifted my chin.

"Nice girl. Let's have some fun."

He groped me. I bit his hand, and he beat me.

The door crashed open.

Luke burst in, iron pipe in hand, fighting.

He quickly subdued them.

He ran towards me; my heart melted, "Luke…"

He bypassed me, freeing the woman.

She sobbed in his arms. Guards untied me.

My heart froze.

He gently hugged her, approaching me. "Sorry, ex-employees, trying to extort me. They meant to kidnap Vivian, wrong person."

He held Vivian close. Pain stabbed me.

Needing an answer, "Who is she?"

"My fiancée."

Smiling, I wiped my tears. "Coincidence, I’m getting married soon. I won’t pay back the rest, consider it compensation for the trouble."

I left, numb.

Text to Amy: “My last chance is gone.”