Chapter 3

The taxi pulled into my apartment complex.

I paid the driver and got out.

The elevator was empty.

In the mirrored walls, I saw myself wearing the brand-new dress I bought specifically for our anniversary.

I had touched up my lipstick right before dinner.

I had even visited a makeup counter after work to get my face done.

I had prepared so much.

Only to turn myself into a punchline.

I turned the key in the lock.

The apartment was dead silent.

Ethan and I rented this place together.

Yet every single responsibility fell on me.

I paid the utilities, managed the Wi-Fi, called the plumber for clogged drains, and arranged repairs whenever the fridge or AC broke down.

Ethan always claimed this was practice for our future home.

Yet he would rush over to Mia's apartment to fix her air conditioner, assemble her bookshelves, and change her lightbulbs.

He told me, "She’s a girl all alone in this city. If I don't help her, who will?"

What about me?

I was a girl living in this city too, staying here only because of him.

Why was I the one who never needed help?

A notification popped up from HR: [Confirmed. Report directly to the airport next Monday. Take paid leave until then to wrap up your personal affairs.]

I opened the closet and started packing.

HR had approached me about the overseas transfer a month ago.

The company needed leaders for their European branch, but I had hesitated.

I didn't want a long-distance relationship with Ethan.

We had been together for five years and planned to get married later this year.

Now, there was no longer any point to that wedding.

I hadn't visited my parents in six months. This was the perfect chance to go home and say goodbye.

I booked the earliest morning train ticket home, then packed my clothes into my suitcase one by one.

The sound of keys jingled in the front door.

When Ethan walked in, I was stuffing my last pair of shoes into the luggage.

He stood by the entryway, holding the takeout box with the leftover mango cake.

"What is wrong with you?" He set the box on the shoe cabinet. "Mia ordered that cake specifically for you, and you walked out without taking a single bite."

I didn't look up.

"You two seemed to enjoy it just fine without me."

"Chloe." Ethan stepped toward me, his voice sharp with irritation. "What kind of scene are you trying to cause now?"

"I'm not causing a scene."

"Then why did you leave out of nowhere? Without even saying goodbye?"

I didn't reply.

I kept folding a wool coat.

He reached down, grabbing the lid of my suitcase to stop me.

"Can you talk to me like an adult? What is this? Throwing a tantrum and running away?!"

I looked up at him.

I looked at his furrowed brows, his tight, impatient lips.

This was his signature look whenever he was annoyed with me.

After five years, I knew it by heart.

"Ethan," I said calmly. "It was mango."

"What?"

"The cake. It was mango-flavored."

He paused, then said defensively, "Yeah, I told you, Mia likes—"

"Were you celebrating our anniversary with Mia?"

He froze.

I continued, "Do you even remember that I’m deadly allergic to mangoes?"

He parted his lips, but nothing came out.

"Or did it simply never cross your mind that the cake was meant for me?"

"What are you implying?"

"I’m saying—" I took a slow breath. "In your minds, whether I eat the cake doesn't matter."

"Chloe—"

"Whether I end up in the ER doesn't matter."

"Stop it—"

"Whether I'm even there doesn't matter to you at all."