Chapter 3

Aunt Clara’s voice came through the receiver, carrying a cautious joy.

“Sophie, have you really made up your mind?”

“Before your mom passed away, you were the person she worried about most. What happened back then left such a deep shadow on you, and I was always afraid you’d trap yourself in it. Now that you’ve figured it out, I really...”

She paused before steadying her voice. “I’ll book your flight. Is tomorrow afternoon okay?”

I blinked my dry, aching eyes. “Yes. I’ll go back and pack some things. I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow afternoon.”

After hanging up, I found a nearby hotel and stayed there.

The bed was clean, untouched, and held no one’s scent.

That night, I slept with an unexpected peace.

I slept until the next afternoon before going home.

When I opened the door, the living room was empty, Ethan was not there, and Chloe was not there either.

I went straight to the master bedroom, ready to pack my luggage.

The moment I pushed open the door, I froze in place.

Even though I had prepared myself, the scene before me still stabbed hard into my heart.

The bedsheet was wrinkled into a heap at the foot of the bed, and the pillow was crooked to one side.

A pink lace bra hung over the edge of the bed.

It was the style Chloe often wore.

On the bedsheet lay a pair of pink panties, with dark and light stains crossing over each other.

Every trace announced how intense their battle had been after I left.

I took one numb step forward.

At a glance, I saw “50 min” written in black marker on the strap of that bra.

At that moment, my heart died completely.

Because that bra belonged to Chloe.

Those glaring numbers dragged me back three years in an instant, to the day Chloe moved into our home.

That night, she and I lay on the bed and talked about the secrets girls share.

She said she had just gotten a boyfriend, but because his job and status were special, they could not go public and rarely met.

But I noticed that there were often numbers on Chloe’s bra straps.

Sometimes it was 35, sometimes it was 48, and the highest one said 72.

I could not hold back my curiosity and asked her what it meant.

At the time, she lay beside me and smiled as she said, “I count how many minutes my boyfriend can last in bed each time. It’s our little code.”

Back then, I had even laughed and teased her, happy that she had found a good man.

So, from that moment on.

That man had been Ethan.

But when she showed off to me back then, what was she feeling?

Was she watching a joke, playing with me, or pitying me?

As if possessed, I turned around and walked into Chloe’s room next door.

I opened the closet and immediately saw an entire wall of neatly hung bras.

The straps were covered densely with numbers.

Some were circled with hearts, and some had been traced over twice in red pen.

It looked like a calendar written for one person alone.

At that moment, I wanted to cry, but not a single tear came out.

My eyes burned and swelled as if they were about to burst.

My phone rang, and I answered with red eyes.

An urgent voice sounded from the other end:

“Are you Chloe Reed’s family member? Her condition is critical right now, and she needs surgery immediately. You are listed as her emergency contact, so please come as soon as possible to sign the consent form!”