It was the red dress.
The one with the off-shoulder sleeves and the delicate satin hem she'd once dreamed of wearing on their honeymoon—if they ever had one.
But they never did.
No honeymoon. No champagne toast under fairy lights. No wedding dance with laughter tangled in their steps.
Just courthouse signatures, polite claps, and a sterile apartment that echoed more with unspoken silence than celebration.
A year had passed since the miscarriage. Jade had stopped counting the days he didn't touch her, the hours he stayed late at work, the weekends he vanished without explanation. He didn't need to say Vivien's name—her presence lingered in every perfume-scented coat, every lipstick-smudged glass in the sink, every lie spoken with too much ease.
And yet, Jade stayed.
She stayed because of a photograph hidden in a drawer, just them and Justin, laughing in the sunlight before everything fell apart.
She stayed because leaving felt like admitting she had nothing left.
She stayed because maybe, just maybe, if she was beautiful enough, quiet enough, patient enough… he'd finally look at her. Really see her.
Tonight, she curled her hair the way her stylist used to, letting each wave fall soft and elegant. She painted her lips the shade of crimson he once called stunning.
And she stepped into that dress.
The red clung to her like memory, taunting, romantic, tragic.
In the kitchen, she lit candles and set the table with care. Linen napkins. Silver cutlery. His favorite wine. Lamb stew, his mother's recipe, the one she had begged to learn when they first married.
Her hands trembled as she laid the plates. It had to be perfect.
This time, please, God, just this time.
The clock struck nine.
Then ten.
And when the front door finally creaked open at half past, she stood up so quickly the wine glass rattled.
Cole stepped in, rain soaking his trench coat, briefcase slung over one shoulder, his gaze heavy with exhaustion, but not from work. From indifference.
He didn't smile. Didn't ask why the table was set.
He didn't even notice the candles.
"I made dinner," Jade said, her voice catching like a thread in the wind. "Your favorite."
He didn't slow his steps. Didn't even glance at the meal she had poured herself into.
"Vivien already cooked," he replied flatly, tossing his keys on the counter.
Vivien.
That name rang louder than the thunder still growling outside.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Jade said nothing.
She simply stood there, red dress glowing in the dim light, while the stew cooled and the candle flames shivered in the breeze of his indifference.
Hours passed. She waited.
The dress became tighter, heavier, like it too could feel the weight of what never was.
And then, perhaps out of desperation, or delusion, or the memory of the girl who still loved him, she walked to the master bedroom.
He was there. Shirt off. Drying his hair.
"This is the dress I was supposed to wear on our honeymoon," she said softly, standing in the doorway like a question mark—like a final plea.
Cole looked up. His eyes met hers.
For once, he didn't look through her. He looked at her.
But it wasn't affection in his gaze. It wasn't love.
It was hesitation, like a man staring at the edge of a cliff and wondering what would happen if he jumped.
Then he kissed her.
No words. No promises. Just hands. Breath. Movement.
Jade responded with every ounce of her soul. She gave him what little pieces of her heart still remained, thinking maybe, if she just loved him hard enough, he'd finally come back to her.
But there was no tenderness. No passion.
Only motion.
And when it ended, when the candlelight flickered and the shadows stretched over the sheets, she reached for him—
But he rolled away.
That one movement said more than words ever could.
She lay still. Cold. Mascara smeared against the pillowcase like bruises.
Cole sat up. Pulled on his shirt. Didn't look back.
"Why are you doing this, Jade?" he asked, tone detached.
Her voice barely escaped her lips. "Because I love you."
He exhaled sharply, like her love was an inconvenience.
"You don't have to stoop this low," he muttered.
Her body recoiled, as if slapped.
"I just wanted—" her voice cracked. "One night. Something that felt… real."
He stood without a sound. Buttoned his sleeves. Adjusted his collar.
"It wasn't real," he said. "This? It never was."
The door closed behind him.
Soft. Brutal. Final.
Jade stared at the empty space where he had just been.
The sheets still held his heat. But not his heart. Never his heart.
She lay back, limbs heavy, arms curling around herself like a shield.
She had never felt so naked.
It had been a year since she lost the baby.
And tonight, she lost what little dignity she had left.
Three Weeks Later
She sat on the cold bathroom floor, heart pounding.
In her trembling hand, the test stick revealed two bold pink lines.
Pregnant.
Again.
She laughed.
Or cried.
She didn't know which.
A second chance.
Or a second heartbreak.
This time, she wasn't sure which one scared her more.