Our Anniversary, Their Hundredth Date

My entry was called *The Last Second*.

It was a high-jewelry set built from my father's pocket watch. A blue sapphire sat at the center, wrapped in tiny moving gold gears. Time had stopped, but the love kept growing around it.

Two years. More than a thousand sketches. I sold my mother's ring to pay for the metal.

The New York Young Jewelry Design Award came with a scholarship and a contract with an international brand. Callum thought it was a hobby. I never told him the truth. Before I left New York, I wanted to prove I could stand on my own work, without a single Sterling dollar.

At 3:20, the armored courier van pulled away from my building. Submission closed at four.

My phone buzzed. It was Callum.

"Did you eat lunch?"

"A granola bar."

"That's not lunch, Maren." He sighed, fond and patient. "I booked dinner for after. We're celebrating."

I traced the edge of the case on my lap. "What if I lose?"

He laughed softly. "Then I'll still be proud of you."

London rose to the tip of my tongue. *I got in. I'm leaving in six days.*

"Callum, there's something..."

The van slammed forward.

Metal shrieked behind us. My head cracked against the window. The case flew off its rack, and glass burst across the floor.

When I could see again, *The Last Second* lay in three pieces.

I didn't feel the blood on my forehead until it dripped onto my hands. I was already out of the van and on my knees on the asphalt, hunting for stones. One sapphire. Two diamonds. A gear rolled into the gutter.

The main hinge, the heart of the whole piece, was crushed flat.

A white sports car sat crumpled against our bumper. The driver's door opened.

Sienna stepped out, sobbing.

"Maren, oh my God. I just wanted to apologize in person. I followed you, and my phone fell, and I bent down to grab it, and I didn't see the van slow down..."

I pulled out my phone and dialed 911.

She seized my wrist. "Please don't. If there's a police report, I'm done. My racing qualifier is next month."

"You followed my van," I said. "You were looking at your phone."

"I'll fix it! I'll help you fix it!" She dropped to the ground and snatched at the broken gold. Then she screamed. A thin line of red opened across her wrist where the sharp metal had caught her.

Callum's car screeched up to the curb ten minutes later.

He saw me first. He crossed the road in four long strides and cupped my face in both hands.

"Maren, look at me. Are you dizzy? How many fingers?"

His thumbs were warm. His voice shook.

Everything I'd been holding cracked open. I swayed toward his chest.

"Cal..." Sienna's voice floated up behind him, thin and faint.

He turned. He shrugged off his coat as he went and pressed it against her bleeding wrist.

"Sienna hit us," I said to his back. "She destroyed my piece."

He glanced at the wreck, then at her. "Si, why weren't you watching the road?"

That was all.

An officer walked over with a notepad. "Who wants to tell me what happened?"

"Can we get everyone checked out first?" Callum said smoothly. "Any damages, we'll settle privately."

"No," I said. "Put it in the report. She was distracted. She was on her phone."

Callum's brows drew together. "Maren. Don't make this bigger than it is."

"The piece is ruined. Judging closes in forty minutes."

"I'll find the best restorer in the city."

"There's no time."

"I'll call the judges."

"They won't break the rules because you're rich."

He went quiet. Then, low and tired: "It's just one competition, Maren."

My head snapped up. "Do you have any idea what this competition means to me?"

He didn't answer. "There'll be other chances. I'll give you more."

I gathered the broken pieces against my chest and stepped toward the street, waving at a yellow cab. Callum's hand landed on its door and held it shut.

"You'll walk in there with a pile of broken jewelry and humiliate yourself."

Something in me finally snapped.

"You don't get to decide what matters to me!"

The cab driver stared. The officer stopped writing.

Behind us, Sienna doubled over and gagged. A paramedic rushed to her side. "She might have a concussion. We need to take her in now."

Callum looked at me. For one second, I saw him waver. His jaw worked.

Then he turned away.

"Stay and finish with the police," he said over his shoulder. "Once she's okay, I'll go with you to explain to the organizers."

The ambulance doors swung shut on both of them.

At 4:01, an email arrived.

*We regret to inform you that your submission was not received by the deadline. You have been removed from final judging.*

I stood on the curb with the sapphire in my fist. I waited for the tears.

None came.

---

At seven, I unlocked my apartment to pack.

Callum and Sienna were already on the couch. Her wrist was wrapped in white gauze. Her eyes were swollen. On the coffee table lay a stapled document.

*Accident Settlement Agreement.*

Callum uncapped a fountain pen and slid it toward me. "Sign this. You waive any civil claim against Sienna."

"No. She has to answer for what she did."

Sienna's face crumpled. "I know I was wrong, Maren. I know. But if this goes on my record, they'll pull my license. I've been training for this since I was sixteen."

"I trained for mine for two years," I said.

Callum leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Your competition is over. Punishing her won't bring it back. Sign, and I'll build you your own studio. Private. Fully equipped. Anything you want."

"I don't need your charity."

He watched me for a long moment. His face gave nothing away.

Then he took out his phone and made a call.

"Gary. It's Callum Sterling. The Brooklyn studio lease. Stop the renewal. Have the space cleared tonight."

I shot to my feet.

My father's old studio held every design he ever drew. Callum had promised to protect it until I was ready to sort through it myself. He had sworn it on my father's grave.

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm giving you a choice."

Sienna tugged his sleeve. "Cal, don't. Please. I'm not worth hurting her over."

He pressed the pen into place again, right beside my hand.

My phone rang. It was a video call from Mr. Okafor, the old caretaker at the Brooklyn building.

"Maren?" His face was wet with rain. "They're moving everything out. I tried to stop them."

He turned the camera.

Box after box of my father's sketches sat stacked on the open loading dock. Rain drummed on the cardboard. The top page had already soaked through, and the gray pencil lines were bleeding into nothing.

I knew that drawing.

It was a ring with two hands clasped around a small stone. My father had drawn it for me the week before he died. *For your wedding,* he'd said.

I grabbed Callum's arm. My voice barely made it out.

"Please. Make them stop."

He looked down at me. Something soft passed behind his eyes, and for a heartbeat I thought he would end the call.

He didn't.

He nudged the pen one inch closer.

"Then sign it, sweetheart."