Chapter 3

3: 3

3

I don't remember how I left the Sullivan house.

By the time I got back to the marital home, it was dark.

Philip's slippers were still waiting for me at the entryway, the ones he'd bought, and there was a yellowed sticky note stuck to the shoe cabinet.

【Baby, before you leave, check: phone, keys, work badge.】

Underneath, in smaller writing:

【And if you forget, just call me.】

He'd written it by hand back when we first moved in.

The place wasn't even finished then. All we had in the living room was a mattress on the floor.

Philip lay there with his arms around me, pointing at the empty rooms, mapping out our future over and over.

A sofa here, he said. A dining table there. The second bedroom saved for the kids.

The closet in the master had to be big enough, because I could never stop buying clothes.

I laughed that he hadn't even scraped together the down payment yet and was already planning this far ahead.

But he took my hand, and he said it like he meant it:

"Whatever other people have, I'll give it to you."

"And whatever they don't, I'll find a way to give you that too."

Back then, Philip really did love me.

The year I graduated, Mom and Dad didn't come to the ceremony because Wendy had a follow-up appointment.

Cindy was busy with a date and forgot she'd promised to take my photos.

So I stood there alone in my cap and gown, watching everyone else pose with their families.

And then Philip appeared in front of me, after sixteen hours on a hard seat, holding a bouquet that had been crushed out of shape on the way.

He came running, sweat all over his face, and threw his arms around me.

"Everybody else has family here to meet them. My Hester should too."

Later I was hospitalized for acute appendicitis.

Mom and Dad were still with Wendy.

He was the one who wrote his own name, carefully, in the family box on my surgical consent form.

The nurse asked what he was to me.

He answered without a second's hesitation:

"Fiancé."

"Her husband, very soon."

Lying in that hospital bed, I was certain I'd never meet anyone who loved me more than he did.

So before the wedding, when he said the appointment system had a glitch and registering the marriage would have to be pushed back, I didn't doubt him.

I let him handle the paperwork on the house, and I didn't ask a single question.

Every month, when the mortgage came out of my account, I actually felt happy.

Because I thought I was slowly buying a home that belonged to us.

It wasn't until today that I understood.

It was nothing but an absurd joke.

The lock clicked.

Philip walked in, saw me sitting in the living room, and visibly relaxed.

"I knew you'd come back."

He took off his coat and went into the kitchen to pour me water, the way he always did.

Honey stirred in, warm to the exact temperature I liked.

"Hester, I admit it, keeping this from you was wrong of me."

"But ten years between us, that isn't fake."

He looked at me, and there was still that familiar tenderness in his eyes.

"For five years, the one living this life with me has been you."

"All Wendy got is a marriage certificate."

"Nothing between us has to change."

I looked at him, quiet.

"So?"

Philip paused.

"Wendy's already agreed she won't move in and get in the way."

"The house is in her name, but you can go on living here."

He even reached out, like he wanted to hold me.

"As long as you stop making trouble, we can be just like before."

And that was when I understood.

He had never once meant to choose between me and Wendy.

He couldn't give up his little sister's love, and he was certain I would never leave.

So he dressed up his own greed as being responsible to both women.

His phone rang.

The second he saw who it was, he let go of my hand.

Wendy, crying, saying her heart didn't feel right.

He grabbed his coat and headed for the door, then turned back to me on his way out.

"Wendy had a shock today, it upset her. I'm going to go check on her."

"Get some rest. Once she settles down, I'll come back and stay with you."

After the door shut, I opened the closet and pulled down the suitcase from the top shelf.

Ten years together. Five years of marriage.

And the things that were truly mine barely filled half a case.

The matching couple's outfits in the closet, the wedding photo on the nightstand, every piece of furniture I'd chosen myself, I took none of it.

Because in this home, from the deed to the man of the house, not one thing had ever been mine.

Six months ago, the company had offered to send me to the overseas division to run a new project long-term.

Back then I couldn't bear to leave Philip, and I turned it down on the spot.

Now I called the person in charge again.

"Is the posting still open?"

The answer came quickly:

"It is. You could fly out as early as tomorrow."

I looked at the honey water on the coffee table, slowly going cold, and said softly, "Book me the flight."