In Paris on July 29, 1720, Addie LaRue prepares meticulously for Luc’s expected anniversary visit. She has claimed a secret top-floor room as a temporary home, furnishing it with a bed, stolen clothes, and carefully gathered trinkets, and she lays out a simple but hard-won dinner—bread, cheese, terrine, wine, and flowers—proud that she assembled it without any magic beyond her curse.

Addie’s preparations are also a challenge: she dresses in russet silk, laces herself into a corset she hates, and rehearses cutting words, determined to prove she is living and free. She waits through the evening watching lanterns light across the city, refusing to eat, expecting Luc to appear as he always has.

Luc does not come. As the night drags into dawn and the anniversary passes, Addie realizes the absence is deliberate and destabilizing, exposing how much she relied on the certainty of his yearly presence as the only fixed point in her endless forgetting.

Overwhelmed, Addie tries to destroy the scene—flinging settings, smashing the wine bottle, cutting her hand—only to watch the curse undo the damage as her wounds close and the broken glass and bottle return whole. The reversal feels like mockery, and Addie screams, collapsing into fear and grief at the thought of facing another year with no one to hold her name.

After fitful sleep and a long day of exhaustion, Addie forces herself up, repeats “Enough,” and eats the now-stale meal. The sorrow hardens into stubborn rage, and Addie resolves to keep that flame alive, knowing future anniversaries will still tempt her with treacherous hope.