Aaron's proposal had been far from ideal. Not only had he brought up marriage as if it were a foregone conclusion, but he hadn't even properly proposed. During their senior year, he simply handed Keeley a box, saying, "Here. It's about time you had this." Inside was a six-carat solitaire diamond ring with a platinum band, encrusted with smaller diamonds. The ring was so large and heavy, Keeley wondered how she'd ever use her left hand.

She sighed, her dreams of a romantic proposal dashed. "Traditionally," she pointed out, "the guy gets down on one knee and asks the girl to marry him."

Aaron looked bewildered. "…Should I do that now?"

Was she in love with an idiot? "Yes, Aaron," she replied.

He retrieved the box, knelt, and took her hand. "Keeley, will you marry me and stay by my side forever?"

Keeley slid the ring onto her finger, wincing at its weight. Placing her hands on his face, she said, "Yes," before kissing him.

The whole thing had been incredibly anticlimactic. At the time, she'd been happy just to be marrying him. Now, looking back, she realized how foolish she'd been. It seemed so strange now, knowing the truth. If Aaron had truly loved her then, as he claimed, wouldn't he have made a little more effort with the proposal?

She understood his upbringing in a cold, loveless environment. He claimed that explained his inability to cherish someone properly, but surely even someone living under a rock knew how to propose marriage. It did, however, explain a lot of his behavior back then—his almost complete lack of verbal affection. Any love and care he showed was through actions. He looked out for her in his own clumsy way, until he ultimately pushed her away.

Hindsight is a funny thing. Her heart ached slightly. Aaron was trying to make amends in this life, even if he didn't always do it right. He complimented her more, his actions were more considerate. He was genuinely trying to be good to her.

But after everything, she couldn't accept it. She couldn't be with him simply to assuage his guilt. Guilt and obligation weren't the same as love.

Even if that weren't an obstacle, they were too different. They never should have been together. Their values, lifestyles, and interests didn't align. It was a miracle they ever found anything to talk about. And most of their conversations consisted of Keeley talking and Aaron occasionally offering a comment.

Love doesn't conquer all. Some relationships simply aren't meant to be.

Keeley had begun to like what she thought was a changed Aaron, but knowing her ex-husband was the same person crushed those budding feelings. She didn't love him, and hadn't for a long time. Discovering the truth didn't change that. Years of loneliness, with him right there, had extinguished any remaining feelings. She felt a little sorry for him, but not enough to change her mind. They were better off apart, moving on with their lives.

Keeley resolutely closed her book and put away her materials. It was time for the lab. She banished thoughts of Aaron as she navigated the throng of students. The lab building was so far from the library; the walk was a workout.

Upon arrival, she scanned her card at the back door, put her backpack in her locker, and donned her lab coat and goggles. It was time to work. Her tasks included collecting data on her mice, checking her cultures, and preparing the next batch for further trials. She also had tasks for Dr. Kim, part of her job requirements.

Hours later, as she measured substances into test tubes for the centrifuge, there was a knock on the lab door. It was 5:30 PM. Every day, without fail, an anonymous takeout delivery arrived.

Today's delivery person was from a sandwich shop. He smiled professionally. "Keeley Hall? Steak and cheese, cookie, and water."

"Thanks," she replied politely. It wasn't the delivery person's fault he was complicit in Aaron's actions.

The delivery boy left with his signature "Have a nice day!"

Keeley shut the door, disheartened. Aaron had been doing this every day since their separation. She assumed it was him; who else would pay for her meals?

He respected her wish to be left alone, but still took care of her. She'd texted him angrily the first time, and he'd replied that it might not be his job, but no one else would ensure she ate, so he wouldn't stop. She'd mostly accepted it, but it was still annoying. Each delivery reminded her of him. Why did he care if she ate? She hated him! Why couldn't he hate her back? Why insist on being nice?

Keeley tiredly ate her sandwich, then returned to work. No use dwelling on it.

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