Chapter 1

The night my grandmother was dying, Ethan Carter finally agreed to take me home.

She was holding on by a thread—just wanted to see, one last time, the man I'd loved for seven years.

We were halfway there when Ethan got a call from Claire Bennett.

On the other end, she was crying so hard she could barely speak. "Ethan, I'm at the hospital alone. I'm so scared."

Ethan went quiet for a few seconds, then turned the car around.

"Grace, Claire saved my life once. I can't just ignore her."

This wasn't the first time.

On my birthday, he went with Claire to try on gala dresses. When I had a fever that wouldn't break, he took Claire to her therapist. Now my grandmother was on her deathbed, asking to see him just once—and he still chose her.

At three in the morning, my grandmother held my hand, her breath faint, and asked, "Is he almost here?"

I smiled. "Almost."

But by the time she took her last breath, Ethan still hadn't come.

I closed her eyes for her and slid the wedding envelope she'd clutched all night—the one she'd wanted to place in Ethan's hands herself—into the drawer.

My phone lit up. A message from Ethan.

"Claire fell asleep. I'll come by later."

I didn't reply. I just shut the drawer, and with it, the version of myself that had waited seven years for him.

The day we buried my grandmother, I didn't tell Ethan.

I called the funeral home myself. Stood on the hill at the cemetery and watched the workers shovel dirt back into the ground, one scoop at a time.

Aunt Linda was crying so hard she couldn't stand straight. She grabbed my arm and asked, "Grace, where's that fiancé of yours? Your grandmother's gone, and he can't even show his face?"

"He's busy."

My voice was so hoarse I couldn't manage another word.

After the last shovel of earth fell, I crouched in front of the headstone and set down a lilac honey cake—Grandma's favorite.

My phone buzzed.

Ethan was calling. His tone was unusually gentle.

"Grace, I'm at a furniture store picking out a dining table for the new place. Do you like round or rectangular?"

I held the phone, frozen for a few seconds.

It had been so long since he'd asked what I liked.

I was about to answer when I heard Claire's voice through the receiver.

"Ethan, a square one. Grace's family is small anyway—a square table is more than enough."

Ethan made a sound of agreement, then asked me, "What do you think?"

"I—"

"And this sideboard."

Claire's voice was closer now, so clear she might as well have been standing in front of me.

"White is too plain. Walnut is more refined. Grace already dresses so dull—the house shouldn't feel that cold too, right?"

Ethan let out a small laugh.

"She's really not great at picking these things."

I gripped my phone tighter.

I'd wanted to pick a round table.

Grandma always said that when a family eats together, they should sit in a circle. That's what makes it feel like home.

Ethan was still talking on the other end. "Grace, why aren't you saying anything? Which one do you want?"

Claire's voice went soft, coaxing. "Ethan, let's just go with this set. I'm sure Grace won't mind."

"She never does."

I listened to those words—she never does—and suddenly felt so tired.

Ethan and I had been together for years. Once, I really did think we were good.

Until his mentor brought Claire back from abroad, and I realized some things had never truly ended.

Back in college, they were everyone's idea of a perfect pair. Same major, effortless chemistry. Even their advisor said it was a shame—wondered how they'd never gotten together.

After Claire came back, that chemistry became even more obvious.

Ethan was in the habit of hearing her opinion first. He consulted her on work matters, and in everyday life, he instinctively factored her in.

And Claire acted like she'd always belonged there—arranging things for him, deciding for him.

Most of the time, she'd already made the call before remembering to say to me: "Sorry, Grace—did I overstep?"

The table, the sofa, the curtains—all chosen to Claire's taste. It was supposed to be my home, but I couldn't get a single complete thought out.

I was quiet for a long time. Finally I said, "Whatever you two decide."

A brief silence on the other end.

Ethan sounded relieved.

"Then we'll go with Claire's pick."

I hung up. Grandma, I'm sorry. I made you wait alone again.

On the long-distance bus back to the city, Ethan called again.

This time, his voice was tinged with urgency.

"Grace, I heard you went back to the town by yourself? Why didn't you call me? I'll go with you tomorrow to see your grandmother."

I was silent for a long time.

He didn't even know she was gone.

"No need. She's already buried."

Silence on the other end. A long silence.

Then he said, "Why didn't you tell me sooner? I—"

The call cut off mid-sentence.

Claire must have needed him again.

That afternoon, Ethan's mother called.

Her first words after I picked up: "Grace, I heard your grandmother passed? My condolences."

"But the wedding is only two weeks away. Keep the funeral low-key—don't let it overshadow the happy occasion."

I tightened my grip on the phone.

She continued, "Ethan's been exhausted lately, and Claire's health is fragile. Don't pile everything on him."

"Claire's the bridesmaid for the wedding. She's delicate—don't let her run herself ragged."

"You don't have many relatives on your side, so keep the program simple."

I closed my eyes.

"I don't have any family left."

A pause on the other end. As if she hadn't heard me at all.

"Anyway, the wedding can't be a mess."

"If your grandmother were still here, she'd want you to marry into this family with dignity."

Of course Grandma wanted me to marry with dignity.

That's why she spent her last night alive clutching that envelope, waiting for Ethan.

But no one cared.

That night, I opened Instagram.

Claire had posted something new.

In the photo, she and Ethan sat in a Japanese restaurant. She was holding a piece of salmon with her chopsticks, tilting her head toward the camera with a smile.

Ethan sat across from her, his face out of frame—but I recognized the hand wearing his watch.

He was pouring soy sauce for her.

The caption read:

"Thanks to Ethan for feeding this patient despite his busy schedule. Very touched."

Posted at six p.m.

Which meant that when I told him Grandma had already been buried, he was having dinner with Claire.

I pressed my phone face-down on the bed, rolled over, and stared at the ceiling for a very, very long time.