Both Sam and Zach had insisted I come to this game. I caved in against my better judgment and because Zach is convinced I bring him luck. Nageurs de Paris has won every single game I attended.

Colette is here, too.

“I had to take a day off so I could attend,” she says to Sam for the third time in the past thirty minutes.

Zach had been apprised of the magnitude of her self-sacrifice at least a dozen times before the game started.

Sam ignores her comment and turns to me. “Ready for the wave?”

He’s wearing a sweater the same color as Zach’s team jacket with a big number three on its back. I found it on eBay back in October as a cold-season alternative to his favorite jersey.

“Ready?” he asks me again.

“Aye, aye, captain,” I say, glancing at the pool.

Noah must have just blocked a shot because he has the ball in his hand and is surveying the field for a wing player to pass it to. Whoever he picks, it’s likely they’ll pass the ball to Zach so he can shoot.

Positioned outside of the two-meter line, Zach looks both alert and self-possessed. He always looks like this during games, despite all the opposing players crowding his personal space.

If Zach nets the ball, Sam and I will grab each other’s hand, stand up and do the wave, after which I’ll throw some confetti.

It’s our tradition.

When I glance at Colette, her expression is gloomy.

Guilt pricks my heart.

Zach has chosen to give his ex a second chance. I have chosen to decamp so the three of them can make a go at being a family. That means I should be consistent and support Colette’s efforts to bond with her son. Zach believes she’s trying. It’s my duty to help her, even if doing so will sever my own bond with the boy.

Move over, Uma. It’s time to let go.

“Hey, buddy!” I give Sam a sunny smile as if I’m about to offer him a treat. “Why don’t you show your mom how to do the wave?”

“Would you like to try?” he asks her.

She nods.

I hand her my confetti bag.

Sam shows her our routine. “OK?”

“Piece of cake,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“We do the wave every time Dad’s team scores,” Sam explains, “and when Noah blocks a shot.”

Colette peers at the players in the pool. “Which one’s Dad’s team again?”

“White caps.”

The audience cheers, and I turn toward the pool.

“Marseille’s hole set converted the penalty!” the commentator shouts.

Marseille finds itself up 2-1. They manage to maintain their one-goal advantage throughout the game. But the Parisians refuse to capitulate. They catch up a minute before the buzzer, after white cap two—I think it’s Valentin—delivers a ball that Zach instantly shifts into the net. Sam and I scream our heads off. Colette stares at us like we’re savages.

Marseille attacks, but Noah blocks their hole set’s powerful shot. He swims forward and passes the ball all the way across the pool to Zach, who volleys it into the goal… only to see it hit the crossbar.

With the clock marking fifteen seconds to the final horn, and Marseille attacking again, Zach abandons his position to join Noah’s defenders and make sure the opponent doesn’t score a decisive goal.

The tension is palpable as the audience and the commentator hold their breath.

“Marseille is racing down the pool,” the commentator says, “They’ll try to score for the win. Otherwise, the game will go into overtime.”

There’s a scrimmage involving several players. White cap five emerges from it with the ball in his hand.

“Great movement from Paris! Cordier steals the ball, passes it to hole set Monin,” the commentator says before adding, “with just five seconds to the end of the game.”

I clench my fists. Zach has no time to turn around and swim back toward Marseille’s goal.

“Monin shoots backhanded from half-court!” the commentator yells.

The arena grows silent as everyone follows the trajectory of the ball, mesmerized. It flies over the staggered goalie’s head and lands inside the goal cage.

Zach’s team won! They’re going to the finals!

After the game, the squad and their wives, girlfriends, and children—as the case may be—head to the usual cafe to celebrate.

In Zach’s case, it’s the child, the nanny and the child’s mom.

He plonks himself onto a chair at the long table. Sam jumps onto his lap. Colette sits down next to him. I press my purse to my chest and open my mouth to say goodbye and leave.

“Uma,” Zach gives me a pleading look. “Please, stay.”

I wish Noah was here so I could sit next to him, but he rushed off immediately after the game.

Zach pats the empty chair on his left.

“Would you like me to take Sam home in an hour or so?” I ask, sitting down. “That way, you guys can stay as late as you want and celebrate properly.”

Colette leans around Zach. “That’s a great idea! Thank you, Uma.”

Zach frowns, visibly conflicted, when Lucas raises his glass. “To the best squad in the world and to the hero of this game, Zachary Monin!”

A lengthy session of cheering, glass clinking, and shoulder slapping ensues.

“Just look at you,” Jean-Michel says to Zach in the middle of the brouhaha, “You used to be this lone wolf, never to be seen in the company of a woman… And now you’ve got not one, but two gorgeous girlfriends, a blonde and a brunette. Lucky bastard!”

I glare at him.

“Shut your stupid mouth,” Zach hisses, more furious than I’ve ever seen him.

Colette chuckles.

If I linger for another minute, I might melt down and cry.

“I rescind my offer,” I say to Zach. “Got a headache.”

“Uma, don’t—”

I stand up. “You guys have fun.”

Zach moves to grab my hand, but I draw back and nearly run out of the cafe.

As I ride the métro back home, my forehead against the window, I tell myself that things can only go uphill from here. Because “here” has become hell. Even suffering my parents’ disappointment and anger when I tell them I’m not marrying Giriraj will be easy compared this agony.

One day, I’ll get over Zach.

I’m strong.

And I’m not alone.

Marguerite has made peace with the fact that Noah and I aren’t in love. Once she did, she hailed my decision to return to Nepal. If my parents cut me off when I tell them I’m not marrying Giriraj, she’ll take me in. She’s even willing to offer me a job at her charity if I have no luck with designers.

Marguerite is so much more than a mentor to me.

She’s my rock.

That said, I still don’t approve of her interfering with Noah and Sophie’s relationship. The way she arranged for Sophie to learn the truth about Noah was too brutal. So brutal that the poor girl flew back stateside and won’t return Noah’s calls.

He’s putting on a brave face, but I know he’s heartbroken.

Ashamed as I am to feel this way, I envy Sophie. Noah may have messed up and hurt her, but their relationship has always been more than just sex for him. It’s obvious from the way he talks about her. Besides, he recently hinted he was about to do something crazy for a chance to win her back.

Zach was prepared to do a crazy thing for me, too, but for the wrong reasons. What moves him isn’t love but a mixture of lust and guilt.

And pity.

I don’t want anyone’s pity. Especially his. I want him to be free to do what he thinks is right for him and his boy.

God, I’ll miss them!

But I must make room for the woman whose rightful place I’ve been trying to usurp. The whole thing has gone too far, and Jean-Michel’s comment is just another wake-up call. Mathilde was right. I should’ve been more careful, guarded my heart better. Instead, I let Zach and Sam take root in it.

Now I have to rip them out.