Chapter 3

"Chloe, are you still mad at me?"

First thing the next morning, Isla showed up at my door. She was holding a bottle of the peach cider I loved, looking incredibly anxious and small.

Ethan had already left for work.

I let her inside and poured her a glass of warm water. "No, I'm just exhausted. I haven't recovered from the jet lag yet."

She let out a massive sigh of relief and smiled. The tension drained from her body as she slid next to me on the sofa, naturally wrapping her arm around mine. "I knew you wouldn't overthink it. Ethan really helped me out a lot while you were away. When I was moving, my water heater burst, and he came over in the middle of the night to fix it. And last month when I had that high fever, he drove me to the ER—"

"Isla."

"Yeah?"

"He never mentioned any of those things to me."

Isla blinked, processing my words, before biting her lip. "He probably just thought they were minor things... Chloe, don't look at me like that. I swear, nothing happened between us."

"If it makes you uncomfortable, I won't ask him for help anymore."

Her eyes welled with tears as she spoke, her voice dropping into a soft, vulnerable whisper. "You're the only person I have left in this city. If even you don't trust me, I don't know what I'll do."

The tight knot in my chest loosened slightly.

Isla had always been like this. When she cried, she looked like a helpless, drenched kitten. It was impossible to stay mad at her.

"Alright, I'm not blaming you," I said, patting her hand. "I heard from your Snapchat updates while I was in London that your new job is going well?"

The moment I mentioned work, her face lit up. Her eyes sparkled as she began babbling about how nice her new coworkers were, how much her manager appreciated her, and how she had even won "Rookie of the Month" last week.

I smiled and listened, remembering how she had been curled up on that hospital floor three months ago. Suddenly, everything felt worth it.

That evening, when Ethan came home, I was in the kitchen prepping dinner while he sat in the living room watching the financial news.

"Did Isla stop by today?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"What did you guys talk about?"

I walked out carrying a plate of food and glanced at him. "She told me about all the things you did for her over the last three months. Fixing her heater, driving her to the ER at midnight... Ethan, I asked you to look out for her, not to be at her beck and call."

He put down the remote, leaning back against the sofa. "You weren't here. Who else was she supposed to call? She has no family here. When something goes wrong, she shouldn't have to face it completely alone."

"So you think you did nothing wrong?"

"What *is* wrong with it?" he retorted, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "You're the one who told me to take care of her. Now that I did, you're pissed. Chloe, what do you actually want from me?"

My mouth opened, but no words came out.

He was right. I was the one who practically begged him to do it.

Before leaving for London, I had repeatedly reminded him that Isla's mental state was fragile after the divorce, and asked him to help watch over her. He had looked annoyed at the time, but he had ultimately nodded.

Now that he had done exactly what I asked, I was starting to act paranoid.

"I'm sorry," I said, sitting down next to him and leaning my head on his shoulder. "I'm just overthinking."

Ethan didn't say anything, but he reached out and gently stroked my hair.

"Where's Leo?" I suddenly realized.

"At my mom's place. With you gone for three months, I couldn't handle him alone, so I dropped him off there."

Leo was our two-and-a-half-year-old son. Before leaving, I had specifically hired a full-time nanny so Ethan wouldn't be overwhelmed.

"What about the nanny?"

"I let her go," he said casually. "I don't like having strangers in the house."

I looked up at him. His gaze was fixed on the TV screen. His phone lit up with a notification, but he glanced at it and immediately swiped it face down.

"Who was that?"

"Just work."

I reached out to grab his phone, but stopped myself halfway.

Forget it.

I didn't want to become one of those paranoid, suffocating wives.

But late that night, insomnia hit me. I tossed and turned, completely unable to fall asleep.

Ethan was fast asleep, his phone tucked under his pillow.

I stared at the ceiling for a long time before finally rolling over to close my eyes.

At 3:00 AM, his phone buzzed.

He rolled over, groggily pulled the phone out from under the pillow to check it, and then quietly slid out of bed. He slipped out of the bedroom, clutching the phone.

Muffled whispers drifted from the living room. I couldn't make out the words, except for the very last sentence.

"Stop crying. We’ll talk about it tomorrow."

I lay there in the dark, gripping the bedsheets until my knuckles turned white.

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