Chapter 1

My boyfriend never peels shrimp for me.

He always says it smells too fishy and grosses him out.

I never complained about it.

Until tonight, at a party with our friends, when he peeled an entire plate of shrimp for his childhood friend, Harper.

He quickly tried to explain to me, "She hurt her hand, Chloe. I had to help her."

Harper also smiled and added, "He’s been peeling my shrimp since we were kids. It’s been our thing for over twenty years."

I stood there, frozen.

Over twenty years.

If that was the case, what were all the excuses he gave me before?

I looked him dead in the eye and asked directly, "I thought you hated peeling shrimp."

"I guess you just hated doing it for me."

After saying that, I turned around and walked straight toward the exit.

Harper stood up immediately, looking anxious to explain.

"Chloe, please don't overthink this! Really, my hand is just hurt, and it's inconvenient. That's the only reason Ethan helped. If you mind, he doesn't have to do it anymore."

Ethan stood up too, grabbing my wrist with a hint of impatience in his voice.

"Chloe, can you not do this? Everyone is watching. What are you making a scene for?"

I looked down at his hand gripping my wrist.

Those same hands had just been peeling shrimp for another woman. There were still tiny bits of shell and juice on his fingertips, and now they were tightly clutching my skin.

I tried to pull away, but his grip was too tight.

"What do you mean, making a scene?"

I looked up at him.

"I just asked a simple question. You said you didn't like peeling shrimp, right? Just answer me."

Ethan's face stiffened for a second.

He opened his mouth, his eyes darting to the side before he let out a heavy sigh.

"Fine, let me explain. Harper and I grew up together. Peeling shrimp is just a habit between us, a promise we made since we were kids. We’ve been doing it for over twenty years."

"It’s literally just a habit. It doesn't mean anything. Don't overthink it."

Harper nodded frantically beside him, her tone carrying a careful, apologetic sweetness.

"Yes, exactly, Chloe! It was just a silly game we played when we were little. Don't misunderstand Ethan. He cares about you so much. Whenever he talks to me, it's always about you."

While she was talking, I quietly observed her hand.

There was a band-aid on her right index finger.

The band-aid looked brand new, its edges perfectly clean, clearly applied just today.

Was a tiny cut really so bad that she needed someone to peel an entire plate of shrimp for her?

I pulled my wrist out of his grip.

"You guys enjoy your night. I'm leaving."

I turned, pushed open the private dining room door, and walked out. Behind me, Ethan's voice echoed.

"Chloe!"

I didn't look back.

Before the door swung shut, I heard Ethan tell the rest of the table, "It’s fine, it’s fine. She just has a temper. She’ll cool down in a bit. Let's keep eating."

Then came a few scattered, awkward chuckles.

I walked along the sidewalk toward the subway station.

Only one sentence kept playing on a loop in my head.

"He’s been peeling my shrimp since we were kids. It’s been our thing for over twenty years."

Over twenty years.

How long had Ethan and I been together?

Two years.

A little over seven hundred days.

During those seven hundred days, we had eaten seafood together more times than I could count.

I absolutely loved shrimp. Ethan knew that.

Every year from May to October, when seafood was at its best, I would buy pounds of shrimp to cook at home.

Ethan always complained that peeling them was a massive pain, that there was barely any meat inside, and that it wasn't worth the effort.

He said he couldn't stand the fishy smell on his fingers.

So, he never peeled a single one for me.

Not even once.

I never thought it was an issue before.

Everyone has their own habits and preferences. If he didn't like peeling shrimp, that was fine. I never forced him.

In fact, whenever we ate shrimp after that, I would purposely sit further away from him, worried that the smell or the juice would splatter on him and make him unhappy.

But today, this same man—who claimed to despise the fishy smell and hated the hassle of peeling shrimp—had peeled an entire plate for his childhood friend.