Chapter 3

I lifted my head and looked straight into his eyes.

"Donald, I have nowhere to go. Will you take me in?"

Donald was silent for a long time.

Long enough that I thought he would say no.

He pulled the car door open. His voice gave nothing away.

"Get in."

The car sped the whole way and finally stopped at a gated community of houses.

Security here was tight. The guard at the entrance saw Donald's car, saluted respectfully, and waved us through.

I remembered this place.

This was our marital home.

Back then I had decorated every inch of it with a full heart, imagining a future with him.

The door opened, and everything inside was exactly as I remembered.

The Totoro slippers I'd bought by the entryway, the beige sofa I'd picked for the living room, even the succulents I'd kept on the balcony, still thriving.

As if I'd only gone away on a business trip and come home today.

Here, time seemed to have stopped.

"You…"

My throat went tight. "You've been living here this whole time?"

"Mm."

Donald changed his shoes and got a pair of slippers for me.

"This is our home."

That one sentence turned my eyes red in an instant.

Our home.

He had been guarding this home I had long forgotten.

"Are you hungry? Let me make you a bowl of pasta."

He rolled up his shirt sleeves, baring firm forearms, and went into the kitchen.

I followed and leaned against the doorframe, watching him boil the water, drop in the pasta, and crack an egg with practiced ease.

His back was broad and steady, and it settled something in me completely.

"Donald."

I called to him softly.

"Hm?"

He turned.

"I'm sorry."

His hands stilled over the pasta. He turned around and looked at me, serious.

"You haven't done anything to be sorry for."

"Forgetting the past isn't your fault."

"But I fell in love with someone else."

That was what I owed him.

Donald's eyes darkened, like ink spilled across them.

He was quiet for a moment, then his voice came low.

"And now?"

"Do you still love him?"

I shook my head.

"No. Not anymore."

"The moment I knew he'd been lying to me, it was gone."

Love is a strange thing. It takes so long to build, and it collapses in a single instant.

He seemed to let out a breath.

The pasta was ready soon, a pretty poached egg nestled on top.

He set the bowl in front of me.

"Eat up. Get some rest after. I've got the guest room ready."

The guest room.

Those two words were like a thorn in my chest.

We were husband and wife, and yet we would sleep in separate rooms.

I had become a guest in this home.

I bowed my head and ate, tears falling one by one into the bowl.

Salty.

When I finished, I tried to grab the dishes to wash them, but he stopped me.

"I'll do it."

He caught my hand and steered me out of the kitchen.

I stood in the living room, looking at this home that was both familiar and strange, and a tangle of feelings rose in me.

Our wedding photo still hung on the wall.

In it I was beaming, tucked against his side, my eyes full of nothing but him.

And he was looking at the camera, with a tenderness and doting in his eyes I had never seen.

Liam had seen this photo once.

He'd asked me who it was.

I told him it was my brother.

Liam even laughed and said, your brother's really handsome.

Thinking about it now, it was almost cruel.

I walked into the guest room he'd mentioned, and sure enough it was spotless.

The sheets and duvet cover were new, carrying the smell of sunlight.

In the bathroom, even the toiletries were the kind meant for women.

He was always this thoughtful.

After my shower I came out in my pajamas and, without quite knowing why, drifted to the door of the master bedroom.

The door wasn't shut all the way. A crack of it stood open.

I saw Donald sitting on the edge of the bed, a picture frame in his hands.

It was our wedding photo.

He was tracing my face in the photo with the pad of his thumb, his eyes sad and full of longing.

My heart felt like it was clenched in a huge fist, so tight I couldn't breathe.

I pushed the door open.

"Donald."

He startled and hurriedly hid the frame behind his back, like a child caught doing something wrong.

"What is it? Can't settle in?"

I walked over to him, crouched down, and looked up at his face.

"Can I… sleep with you?"

The moment I said it, my cheeks burned.

His throat bobbed, and his breathing came unsteady.

"Carly, do you know what you're saying?"

His voice was rough.

"I know."

I looked into his eyes, word by word.

"Donald, I want to get to know you again."

"And I want you to get to know me again too."

In the end, Donald still said no.

He pressed me down onto the guest bed and tucked the covers around me, gentle but leaving no room to argue.

"Go to sleep."

He pressed the lightest kiss to my forehead, soft as a feather brushing past.

"Don't let your mind run away with you."

Then he turned and walked out, thoughtfully pulling the door shut for me.

I lay in the dark with my eyes open, and I didn't sleep all night.

I could feel it. He was afraid.

Afraid I was only acting on impulse, afraid I would hurt him again.

Three years is long enough to change a great many things.

Including a person's love, and what they let themselves hope for.