The Wrong Ending

I should’ve known better than to fall for him.

Not because he’d done anything wrong, but because getting attached always scares me a little more than I like to admit. Still, as I climbed the stairs to Noah’s apartment that evening, I told myself I wasn’t here to accuse him of anything. I just needed clarity. Honesty. A conversation that would steady the strange feeling in my chest before it grew into something heavier.

He hadn’t been himself for the last few days. Shorter texts, distracted calls, a last-minute cancellation the night before. None of it was alarming on its own — people have off weeks, right? But something about the way he said “I’ll explain later” had stuck with me. And instead of spiraling, I decided to do what I always promised myself I would do in my next relationship: say what’s on my mind.

Handle things like an adult.

Talk before assuming.

Try not to let old wounds write new stories.

The hallway outside his door smelled faintly of takeout and laundry detergent. Warm light slipped from beneath his doorway onto the floor. I hesitated a moment, smoothing the front of my sweater, telling myself I had every right to be here — that it was okay to want reassurance, okay to want him to look me in the eyes and make whatever this feeling was go quiet.

I knocked gently. For a second, there was no sound. No footsteps. No shifting shadows beneath the door. I almost convinced myself he wasn’t home — or worse, that he was home and ignoring me. But then the lock clicked.

The door opened, and Noah blinked at me with a soft, surprised smile. His hair was a little messy, like he’d been lying on the couch, and he wore the faded T-shirt I always teased him about.

“Ava?” He said, warmth sliding into his voice. “Hey. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Something about the way he looked at me pulled me straight back to the moment we met.

The first night I met him, it was raining.

Not the cute, romantic kind of rain either—the kind that soaks through your shoes and plasters your hair to your neck. The kind that fills the entire city with the smell of wet concrete and exhaust fumes. I’d been standing under the flimsy awning of the corner bar, scrolling through my phone, trying to decide if I should call an Uber or walk the seven blocks to my apartment and act like I didn’t care if I caught a cold.

He walked out of the bar, shook rain from his hair, and said, “Looks like the universe doesn’t want us going home yet.”

I wasn’t in the mood for a stranger’s clever line. I rolled my eyes. “I don’t take cosmic hints. They tend to backfire on me.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a small shrug. “How about something simpler, then? I like walking in the rain. And if you're heading the same direction, I can walk with you.”

“I don’t walk home with strangers.”

“I’m Noah.” He held out his hand. “I live on Maple, two blocks past the laundromat with the broken neon sign. I work in finance, which sounds boring, but I promise I’m at least a little fun. I have a sister who calls me too much and a mom who texts in all caps. Your turn.”

I should’ve walked away. I should’ve ordered the Uber and stayed under that awning until it arrived like a sensible, detached person who doesn’t believe in fate or chemistry or any of the other stupid things that always get me hurt.

Instead, I shook his hand.

“Ava,” I said. “I live on Maple too.”

He smiled like I’d just confirmed something for him. “See? Universe.”

We walked home together in the rain.

He told me about his mother’s chemo and his sister’s obsession with true crime podcasts. I told him about my job auditing internal accounts, how people look at me differently when I tell them I catch “mistakes” for a living. I left out the part where I’d once spent three months convinced my ex was cheating on me because he started going to the gym without telling me ahead of time.

That night, when he asked for my number at my door, I gave it to him.

When he kissed me on our third date, outside a little Thai place that overdid it on the chili oil, I kissed him back.

His mouth was soft and sure. His hands were gentle on my waist. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was bracing for impact.

“I’m glad I met you,” he murmured against my lips.

I believed him.

The memory faded as Noah gazed at me, his presence pulling me back into the moment.

I forced a small smile. “Hi. I hope it’s okay. I just… wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, of course.” He stepped back immediately, opening the door wide. “Come in.”

I stepped inside, taking in that familiar scent of his cologne. Nothing about the apartment looked different. His jacket hanging on the hook, his mail neatly stacked on the end table, his shoes by the door—everything was just the same as when I was here last time.

“Everything alright?” He asked gently, closing the door behind us. “You look a little tense.”

“I didn’t want to jump to conclusions or text something that sounded off,” I said, turning toward him. “Talking in person felt… better.”

His brows lifted, but not defensively, more curious. “Okay. You want to sit?” He asked, nodding toward the couch. We moved to the couch together, and I tried to ignore the nervous flutter in my stomach. The silence hung for a bit, not awkward, just kind of waiting around. “So,” he said softly, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I feel like you’ve been distant this week,” I said carefully. “And I don’t want to assume the worst. I just… wanted to know if something changed.”

His expression shifted — surprise, then guilt, then something warm and apologetic.

“Ava,” he said, shaking his head lightly. “Nothing’s changed. I’ve just had a lot going on. I’m sorry if it felt like I was pulling away. That wasn’t my intention.”

In an instant, everything felt okay again.

I let out a soft breath and leaned back into the couch. As I settled in, something on the coffee table caught my attention — a small tube of lip gloss with a pink tint and a gold cap. Definitely not mine. Noah followed my gaze and reached for it immediately, almost relieved to have an explanation ready. “Oh, that’s my sister’s. She was here earlier and must’ve forgotten it.” He said it easily, casually, and set the gloss aside.

I nodded, forcing a small smile. “Oh. Okay.”

Before the moment could settle, Noah’s phone buzzed three times in quick succession. He reached for it, but my eyes flicked to the screen first — fast enough to catch the notification.

Have you talked to her yet?

A small tightening bloomed in my chest. He flipped the phone over a little too quickly.

“You can answer that,” I said lightly.

“No,” he replied. “It’s fine. I’m here.”

I nodded, but something in me stayed unsettled. He stood and walked toward the kitchen, pulling two glasses from the cabinet. “Do you want water? Ginger ale?”

“Water’s fine,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure I could swallow anything.

As he filled the glasses, something caught my eye — a corner of folded paper sticking out from beneath a small stack of unopened mail on the counter. Just a tiny bit peeking out. I don’t know why it drew me. Paper sticking out of things always bothered me — uneven edges, little imperfections that begged for straightening. I walked over, meaning only to tuck it back in. But when I pulled it free, the first thing I saw was the store logo.

Westlake Jewelers.

My breath caught in my throat. Seeing the date at the top made my stomach tighten up. It was last month. I quickly read down the page, noticing just one item purchased—luxury price, no details, only a SKU code. He hadn’t given me jewelry last month or even mentioned buying me a gift. I could hear him turn off the faucet and start heading back my way.

“Ava? What’s that?” He asked.

I didn’t reply, instead just kept looking at the receipt, and suddenly I felt this hot, sharp feeling flare up in my chest.

“You bought jewelry,” I said, voice thin. “A month ago.”

His brows knit. “Ava, let me explain—”

“For who?” I choked out. “Because it wasn’t for me.”

“Ava—”

“You hid it,” I said, the shock unraveling into panic. “You bought something for someone else, and then suddenly you were acting different, and—”

“Please,” he said, raising his hands carefully. “Put the knife down.”

I didn’t realize I’d grabbed the knife until I saw my own reflection in the blade. Noah froze, terror flooding his face.

“You were going to leave me,” I breathed.

“No—”

“You bought jewelry for someone else.”

“That’s not—”

“And you were going to leave me.”

“Ava,” he said, voice trembling, “please.”

But the ache inside me had grown so deep, there was no fixing it. I moved, and the blade found him before he could take another step. His breath left him in a stunned, choking gasp as he crumpled to the floor, blood spilling through his fingers. He fought for breath, words catching painfully in his throat.

“Not… someone… else,” he rasped. “It was… for you.”

My heartbeat faltered.

“What?”

His trembling hand reached into his pocket, barely managing to lift a small velvet box before it slipped from his fingers and rolled across the tile. His chest rose once more, fell, then stilled. The room was still until his phone buzzed again. With shaking fingers, I picked it up to read the texts.

Stop being a jerk and talk to her already.

She’s going to say yes.

I can’t believe my baby brother is getting married.

You’re going to be so happy, Noah.

Tears blurred the screen. I knelt beside the man who had loved me — truly, fully, unquestionably — and was ready to propose and spend his life with me. I destroyed him with the weight of my own insecurities.

Good men never lasted around me. I always told myself it was bad luck, or timing, or somehow their fault. But deep down, I knew the truth. The moment I chose him, his fate was sealed. It always is.

I should’ve known better than to fall for him.