Chapter 3

The housekeeper stepped back when she saw me in the doorway.

My father looked at me like I'd tracked something in. Said I'd shamed the family.

My stepmother wanted me out. Every day she had a name for me — a divorced restaurant owner, fifty-something, looking for someone to cook and clean. She said I should consider myself lucky.

"You're a divorced woman," she said. "What exactly are you holding out for?"

That was when Seth came.

It was the worst I'd been.

My stepmother had nearly finalized it — the restaurant owner, the second marriage I hadn't agreed to. My father said nothing. His silence was enough.

Then Seth showed up and asked for my hand. Said he'd thought about me for a long time.

My father said yes. My stepmother threw a cup at the wall.

The day I moved into Seth's house, I thought: maybe this is finally it.

He treated me well.

He put toothpaste on my brush before I woke up. When I coughed, he made pear tea.

On the nights I couldn't sleep, he lay beside me and patted my back until I went still.

I thought I'd found solid ground. I thought maybe things were allowed to be okay now.

Then came the day we visited my family after the wedding.

Serena was in the yard. She was wearing a white sundress. The wind caught the hem. She turned and glanced back.

Just once. That was all it took.

Seth's feet stopped moving.

After that, everything changed.

He started going to the estate constantly. Said he was checking on my father.

He started buying her things. Lipstick, bags, flowers, jewelry.

He started bringing her up in conversation. How smart she was. How thoughtful.

I knew exactly what was happening. I didn't say a word.

I just thought: maybe this is just what my life is.

The people I love always leave.

In the end, it was at the family dinner.

He dropped the divorce papers on the table in front of me and walked out with his arm around Serena.

---

I lay in bed thinking through all of it, and somewhere in the middle of it I fell asleep.

The next morning I was woken by shouting.

"Still in bed? The sun's been up for hours!"

His mother's voice exploded next to my ear.

I opened my eyes. She was standing over me, hands on her hips, face full of contempt.

She grabbed my arm. "Get up and make breakfast. This house doesn't feed people who don't work."

My whole body hurt.

It was like this every month around my cycle. My lower back locked up. A grinding cramp low in my stomach. Even breathing felt like effort.

I pushed myself up on one arm, pulled on a jacket, and got out of bed.

"What's taking so long? Callum's waiting to eat!"

I made breakfast and brought the food to the table.

Callum was already seated, scrolling through his phone. He didn't look up.

I set the congee in front of him. He stood up.

"What's wrong?" his mother asked.

"I'm not eating." He was already at the door, picking up his keys. "Serena's upset. I'm going to check on her."

His mother sat at the table staring at the full spread. Her expression curdled.

I stood still. Eyes down. Didn't move, didn't speak.

Crack.

Her palm hit the table.

"Look at yourself." She pointed at me. "Can't keep a man, takes half the morning to cook a meal he won't even touch — what are you even here for? You're deadweight."

When I still didn't respond, she grabbed a dish off the table and threw it at me.

It hit my forehead and split in two. Broth ran down into my eye.

"Useless!"

She turned and walked out.

The broth stung. I blinked. Reached up and wiped my face.

My forehead had split open. Blood mixed with the broth, running down.

The floor was a mess.

I crouched down and started picking up the pieces one by one.

When the shards were cleared, I got the cloth and knelt on the floor and wiped up the broth.