Where Our Heaven Was Never Built

A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I quietly sank into a chair, fighting to catch my breath.

Before leaving, Nico glanced back at me. "She came to you because she trusts your talent. You're the best. Make sure you execute all her requests perfectly."

He escorted Seraphina away without a second glance, oblivious to the blood draining from my face.

Nico and I had been together for three years. In those three years, I had gone from a fledgling designer to one of the most sought-after in New York City.

But our relationship? It had remained utterly stagnant.

After my late shift, I dragged myself home and collapsed onto the sofa, every bone in my body aching.

My phone rang. It was my mother.

"Christmas is just around the corner. Is Nico coming this year? You two have been together for three years, and your cousin's kid is already in elementary school! Tell me the truth… is something wrong between you two?"

Here we go. The same tired refrain.

I closed my eyes, a lump forming in my throat as I squeezed out the words. "We're fine, Mom. Really. If anything changes, you'll be the first to know."

Of course, I had wondered. I had asked. I had pushed. But his answers were always the same hollow refrains: "Don't overthink it." "Things are busy with the family, just wait a little longer." "Marriage is just a matter of timing, isn't it? Haven't I promised you? You can trust me."

If I pressed any further, he would grow cold and impatient. And so we drifted, year after year, until suddenly, three had passed.

My thoughts were a tangled mess, and the suffocating pressure I’d felt in the church came rushing back.

But my mom was still chattering on the phone. "You're about to turn twenty-nine. How can your father and I not be worried? We just want what’s best for you…"

Before she could finish, I snapped, my voice trembling. "Worried about this, worried about that! That's all you do! You think worrying is going to magically produce a marriage certificate? If you want to know when he’s going to marry me, why don't you ask him? I'm working myself to death, I can barely breathe. Can you just leave me alone for one minute?"

I sat there, gasping, my chest throbbing with sharp pains as a sweet, metallic taste rose in my throat. On the other end of the line, there was only stunned silence.

I rubbed my forehead, trying to soften my tone. "Mom, I'm just… I'm really tired today. I know what I'm doing. I'll call you back."

I hung up and fumbled for the cough suppressants on the table, swallowing a handful. Stay calm, I told myself. The doctor said stress would only make it worse.

After washing my face, I was getting ready for bed when I heard the front door click open.

Nico walked in, still in the same suit. "Not asleep yet? I told you I've been busy. You don't have to wait up."

He leaned in to kiss me. The moment he leaned in, I caught the scent of her perfume on him—an expensive, cloying fragrance I recognized from the church. I turned my head away.

He thought I was sulking. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he reached out to pull me into his arms. The moment his hand touched my arm, I flinched violently, sucking in a sharp breath as I dodged his embrace.

He froze, looking down at his own hand. "What's wrong? You're not feeling well?"

I pushed his hand away, a cold sweat breaking out on my back. "Don't… I'm just tired." I couldn’t tell him I’d been coughing up blood.

He hesitated, his brow furrowed, then he clicked his tongue in annoyance and headed for the bathroom. I quietly picked up the suit jacket he’d tossed on the sofa. I brought it to my nose.

The same aggressive, sweet fragrance lingered. It was faint, but it was there. I also found a single long, blonde hair that wasn't mine.

I sat there, motionless. All the questions I had prepared for him died on my lips.