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It's the day of our ninety-ninth appointment for our marriage license. My boyfriend, Lucian, showed up just before closing. Again. “Sorry,” he said. “I got sucked into the game and lost track of time.” His assistant, Bianca, immediately jumped in to defend him. “It’s my fault. ” “Lucian was helping me with a game last night, so he barely slept. ” “He floored it all the way here.” Lucian reached for me, trying to guide me inside. But Bianca stepped in front of us. “Don’t we still have fifteen minutes?” She looked at Lucian, her voice soft and coaxing. “Play one more round with me, please? I just need one more win.” Lucian frowned, glanced at her, then turned to me. “Don’t worry. One round, ten minutes tops. We’ll still make it.” I smiled and said nothing. By the time the game ended, the office was closed. Lucian had the grace to look apologetic. “Book another one. I swear I’ll be on time.” I nodded and turned to leave. I had already booked the hundredth appointment. This time, with a different groom. … Lucian caught up from behind, pulling me into his arms and ruffling my hair. “All right, don’t be upset.” “I was off today. I really didn’t mean for this to happen.” “It’s Bianca’s fault. She bet someone she could hit Master rank in one day.” Bianca had followed us, stopping a few feet away with a playful pout. “That’s on you, Lucian. If I’d known, I would’ve just paid for a boosting service. Lost two stars for nothing.” With that, she took a step and gave Lucian a shove. Her foot “slipped,” and she pitched forward, falling straight into his arms. Lucian had one arm around me and used the other to steady her. The motion was so practiced it was clear this wasn’t the first time. Once Bianca was back on her feet, she turned to me, her eyes immediately welling up. “Margot, I’m so sorry.” “It’s all my fault. I insisted Lucian play ranked with me and held you guys up.” “And we still lost. If I’d known, I would have told Lucian to go with you first.” Lucian draped an arm over my shoulder, patting me as if soothing a child. “It’s not a big deal. Margot won’t hold it against you.” “I’ve made plans with her so many times, and something always comes up. She’s used to it. She won’t take it to heart.” Bianca shook her head, her eyes still red. “But I still feel awful. How about I treat you to dinner as an apology?” I glanced at my watch. “No need. You two go.” They had already wasted enough of my day. I turned and disappeared into the crowd. Behind me, I could faintly hear Lucian comforting Bianca. “She’s not mad, she just gets quiet. I’ll smooth things over with her later.” He still didn’t get it. It wasn’t that I wasn’t angry. I just didn’t want him anymore. I went straight to Lucian’s apartment in Manhattan. The moment I pushed open the door, the built-in glass display cabinet in the living room lit up automatically. Inside sat ninety-eight limited-edition handbags. Each one marked a time he’d stood me up. The first time, he bought me a Tory Burch. Back then, he had just started his business and money was tight, but he insisted. He told me, “I never want you to wait for nothing.” The fifth time, a Coach. The tenth, an MCM. After the twentieth, the brands became Chanel and Hermès. The bags got more expensive, and he arrived later and later. My phone chimed. A bank notification informed me of a transfer, just enough to buy a new Chanel. Then an iMessage came through. *Go buy yourself that Chanel you were looking at. The new one would be perfect on you.* I stared at the text for a few seconds, accepted the money, and didn’t reply. I had already listed the other ninety-eight bags on The RealReal. With today’s transfer, it was just enough for a down payment on an apartment in Brooklyn. After seven years, it felt like fair compensation.Lucian came home after dark, smelling of alcohol. “Are you really mad?” He wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder, his voice muffled. “You’re not seriously going to hold this against a clueless assistant, are you?” I gently pushed his hands away. “I’m not angry. I’m just tired, Luce.” He pressed his fingers to his temples, his brow furrowing. “Well, whose fault is that? You’re the one who insists on sitting on those hard chairs at the City Clerk’s office. Next time, just wait in my car. It’s got to be more comfortable than that place.” “That’s not the kind of tired I mean.” I lowered my eyes. “I’m tired of this relationship.” He froze. “Lucian, in seven years, you have stood me up ninety-nine times.” “My grandmother always said that if you and the person you want to marry fail at something important ninety-nine times, it’s a sign. The only way to break the curse is to change the person.” He stared at me for a second, then laughed. “You believe that?” “I do.” I looked up at him. Only one wall sconce was on in the living room, casting the space in dim light. I couldn’t make out the details of his face, only the flicker of annoyance starting to build in his expression. “You’re really going to pick a fight over something like that?” “Today was an accident. I didn’t mean to be late. I’ll beat you there next time.” I took his phone and opened the alarm app. Twenty alarms. Starting at nine-thirty in the morning, one every five minutes. Every label was the same: *10:00, City Clerk’s Office with Margot. Don’t be late.* Every single one had been silenced. I had set them myself last night. At the time, he’d been slumped on the couch, yawning, answering with a distracted, “Got it.” I scrolled down. Call log. 9:12 a.m. today—Bianca. Forty-seven minutes. 10:00 a.m.—Bianca. Over an hour. Eleven, twelve, two in the afternoon. Bianca, all day. My name was at the very bottom of the list. And that call had been from the night before. He’d answered for less than ten seconds before saying he was busy and hanging up. Lucian watched me scroll, rubbed his nose, and finally looked a little uncomfortable. “The alarms kept going off while we were playing. It was messing with my game. Bianca said they were annoying, so she turned them off for me.” “Just book it again. I’ll be on time next time.” Before he could finish, his face changed. He clapped a hand to his mouth and bolted for the bathroom, doubling over the toilet. I sighed and waited for him to finish. I wiped his face and helped him to bed. I had just turned to leave when he suddenly grabbed my hand. With his eyes closed, he mumbled, “Don’t go… I’ll play with you until you hit Master, okay?” I stood by the bed for a few seconds, then slowly pulled my hand free and gently closed the door. It was almost one in the morning by the time I dragged my suitcase into my new apartment. I had paid the down payment on this place myself, and I’d been overseeing the renovations for months. The room at the far end of the hall, I’d specifically designed as a game room. A double desk, two high-end gaming PCs, an entire wall of shelves for his figures. It was supposed to be a surprise for Lucian, our home after we were married. Now, it was pointless. After unpacking, I was so exhausted my body ached. The moment I hit the bed, I was asleep.The next morning, the vibration of my phone woke me. The screen was a sea of missed calls from Lucian. I was about to head to the bathroom when he called again. The moment I picked up, his voice came through, tight with controlled anger. “Where are you?” “At my new place.” There was a beat of silence. Then he gave a short, mocking laugh. “What hotel? Send me the address. I’ll pick you up after work.” I drew in a breath. “I’m not coming back, Lucian.” “What do you mean?” “Lucian Romano, we’re breaking up.” He was silent for a long time, then suddenly laughed. “Because I was late for the license appointment?” “Isn’t that enough?” “Of course not.” Lucian sighed. “Margot Cross, how old are you?” “Stop this. I’m in Austin Tuesday through Thursday for a project. Book us for Friday morning, and I’ll go with you.” I let out a soft breath. “Lucian, you don’t understand. I’m going with someone else—” I didn’t get to finish. Bianca’s laughter echoed from his end of the line. Lucian said, “Hang on,” and hung up. I stared at the ended call screen for a few seconds. Then my phone buzzed again. A Venmo transfer. Larger than last night’s. A message followed. *Buy two. One to carry, one to keep. Be good.* I turned off the screen and tossed the phone onto the pillow. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I studied my reflection. My face was pale. My lips, too. The exhaustion was a heavy weight beneath my eyes. I hadn’t looked like this three years ago. The first time we’d made an appointment at the City Clerk’s Office, I’d arrived two hours early. I wore a new dress, spent an hour on my makeup, and sat on the steps outside waiting for him. He was forty minutes late. That time, his excuse was that he’d stopped to rescue an injured stray dog. He held up his phone to show me the scruffy little thing, his face a mask of guilt. “Margot, I’m so sorry. It looked so much like the dog you had when you were little. I couldn’t just leave it.” The way he looked at me then, his eyes were so bright. I told him it was okay. We’d come back next time. The second time, he had a flat tire on the highway. The third, a delayed flight. The fourth, the fifth, the sixth. Every time, there was a reason. Every time, he was sorry. Every time, I said it was okay. I can’t even remember when his excuses started becoming all about Bianca. Bianca’s pipes burst. Bianca was pricked by a cactus. Bianca accidentally locked herself in the break room. Bianca’s cat ran away. Bianca got dumped. The incidents grew smaller, the excuses more ridiculous. But every time, he rushed to her side without a second thought. He never made her wait. I complained once. He said, “She’s my assistant. She’s helpless. If I don’t handle it and something actually happens, what then?” He’d said it so matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. After that, I stopped bringing it up. I took out my phone and rebooked my appointment for next Friday. Once it was confirmed, I took a screenshot. Then I contacted my realtor and put the new apartment up for sale.

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