Chapter 4

"Chloe, how is Isla doing lately?"

When I went to my mother-in-law’s place over the weekend to pick up Leo, she suddenly brought it up.

I was kneeling on the floor, tying Leo’s sneakers. My hands froze for a split second. "She's doing well. Her job is stable now."

Ethan’s mother wiped her hands on a dish towel as she walked out of the kitchen. She hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Ethan hasn't been home much these past few months, has he? He told me his firm was incredibly busy and he had to work late."

"Yes, he’s been busy." I picked Leo up and gave her a polite smile. "Mom, we should get going. Leo needs his nap."

She stopped me, looking conflicted. "Chloe, I’m not trying to meddle. Isla is a sweet girl, but you have your own family to think about. When Ethan came over last week to pick up some of Leo's clothes, there was a silk scarf sitting on his passenger seat. Men are careless, he probably didn't even notice it..."

"But I know for a fact that scarf wasn't yours."

I kept holding Leo, my smile unchanged, but my grip on him tightened until my fingers turned pale.

On the drive back, Leo fell asleep in his car seat.

I pulled over to the side of the road and called Isla.

"Chloe! Hey, I was actually just about to text you to grab lunch—"

"Isla, you left a silk scarf in Ethan’s car."

The line went dead silent for two seconds.

"Oh... right! That must have been from when he drove me to the hospital. I was feeling super carsick and took it off. I totally forgot about it. Chloe, I'll grab it next time I see you—"

"No need. I’ll bring it back to you."

After hanging up, I sat in the car, gripping the steering wheel for what felt like hours.

I wondered if I really was just being crazy.

Ethan was distant, but he wasn't a bad man. Isla was loyal, she wasn't that kind of person. They were the two most important people in my life. What reason did I have not to trust them?

But I recognized that scarf. It was a pale green silk wrap. I had bought it for Isla’s birthday. She had told me it was too expensive to wear and kept it safely locked in her closet.

Now, it was sitting in my husband’s passenger seat.

When Ethan came home that night, I placed the scarf on the coffee table.

He didn't stop kick off his shoes. He glanced at it. "Where did you find that?"

"In your car. It’s Isla’s."

"Oh." He walked over, picked it up, and casually draped it over the back of a chair. "I drove her to the doctor last week. She got carsick, took it off, and forgot it."

His explanation matched Isla’s word-for-word.

"Ethan."

"Yeah?"

"How many times have you driven her to the hospital?"

He finally stopped loosening his tie. He turned to look at me, his eyes filled with exhaustion and impatience.

"Chloe, can you stop doing this? Do I have to undergo an interrogation for every single thing I do? If you’re really that paranoid, I won't help her with anything ever again, okay?"

"You asked me to take care of her, so I did. You told me not to speak ill of her, so I didn't. Now you're implying something is going on between us. Chloe, do you hear how unreasonable you sound?"

His voice wasn't loud, but every word felt like a needle pricking my deepest insecurities.

Because everything he said was technically true.

I was the one who brought Isla into our lives. I was the one who begged him to help her. I was the one who chose to fly to London for three months despite his objections.

What right did I have to accuse him?

"I'm sorry," I managed to choke out.

Ethan threw his tie onto the couch, walked into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut before turning on the shower.

I sat in the living room and picked up the silk scarf.

It was folded neatly. And it smelled of a strange, sweet detergent—not the brand we used.

Someone had washed it, folded it, and placed it on the passenger seat.

It wasn't forgotten there. It was placed there on purpose.

The next day, I went to Isla's apartment without warning.

I rang the doorbell three times, but nobody answered.

I pulled out the spare key—the one she had given me the day she moved in, telling me to keep it "just in case."

The moment the door swung open, my eyes fell on a pair of men's slippers sitting on the shoe rack.

They were dark gray, size 10. The wear on the soles showed they had been worn more than just a few times.

I recognized those slippers.

I had bought them online as a matching couple's set for Ethan’s birthday last year. He had complained that the color was ugly and barely wore them. Eventually, they disappeared, and I assumed they had been thrown out with the donations.

The living room looked normal, but out on the balcony, two shirts were hanging on the drying rack.

They were crisp white button-downs. On the cuffs, there were dark silver engraved cufflinks—Ethan’s signature style. He insisted on those specific cufflinks for all his formal shirts.

As I stood on the balcony, my phone rang.

It was Isla.

"Chloe! Where are you? I just got back from the grocery store. I bought those cherries you love—"

"I’m at your apartment."

The phone went dead silent.

Three seconds. Five seconds. Ten seconds.

"Chloe... why did you go over without telling me? The place is such a mess—"

"Isla, whose white shirts are hanging on your balcony?"

The silence stretched so long it felt suffocating.

Finally, she let out a tight, nervous laugh. "Oh... those belong to a guy from work. We had a team dinner last week, and he spilled wine all over himself. I offered to wash them for him—"

"Isla."

"Are those slippers on your rack his, too?"

Over the phone, I heard the sound of cherries spilling and rolling across the floor. Isla's breathing became frantic. "Chloe, let me explain—"

I hung up the phone.