A Brother’s Promise Six months ago, I was just a 25‑year‑old structural engineer with a life that made sense. I had a wedding to plan, a honeymoon to pay off, and a fiancée who already had a list of baby names taped to our fridge. Sure, I had stress — deadlines, bills, and a mother who texted me like she got paid per message. Every morning she’d call with advice. “James, you work too much,” she’d say.“I’m proud of you, but you need to take care of yourself. Supplements! Good

I always thought the worst moment in my marriage would be something dramatic — a huge fight, a betrayal, something impossible to ignore.But instead, the moment my marriage ended was quiet, cold, and carried by the November wind. It was the second my husband refused me his coat… and then gave it to another woman without blinking.And after that, all I wanted was to make him understand exactly what he’d thrown away. My husband, Mark, and I have this running joke among our friends. Someone always asks: “Where’s Chloe?” And

The first time I saw him, it was past midnight, outside the all-night laundromat—the kind of place that never really sleeps. The machines hummed a constant, sleepy drone. The neon sign above flickered pink, tired and uneven, casting a glow over the cracked sidewalk. The smell of detergent mixed with the sharper city scents—exhaust, wet asphalt, and something faintly smoky. Everything felt worn out and restless, but alive in its own way. He was sitting in the corner near the entrance, almost fading into the shadows. His “bed” was nothing