Chapter 3

The rain hadn't stopped. I booked a pet farewell service for Biscuit and had him taken over ahead of time.

Then, like some drenched, lost soul,

I walked home in a daze.

When I opened my phone, I stumbled onto Skye Chandler's account.

The account had been going for two years.

It was packed with stray-cat rescue posts, and Cameron was in every single one.

On an overpass at two in the morning, in the underground garage of some run-down complex, in a filthy dump.

And Iris Swanson had liked and commented under every one.

"Aww, so sweet! What a kind little couple!"

The most recent post was a shot Skye had taken of Cameron's back, captioned:

"Thank you to Cameron, who keeps rescuing even though he's allergic to cat hair! And who donated five hundred thousand to our shelter!"

The comments were all teasing.

"It's obviously all for you! I could hear those wheels turning from overseas!"

Before I knew it, my face was wet with tears again.

Finally I set the phone face down, booked a plane ticket, and sent a message to my aunt.

"Aunt Diana, is that company of yours in Switzerland still hiring?"

Not long after, the smart lock clicked. Cameron was home.

The second he saw me, his eyes went red.

He crouched down carefully in front of me and said,

"Charity, let me explain. I swear, I just felt sorry for her. Nothing happened between us."

"Heaven brought her to me with nowhere to go. She runs herself ragged as a volunteer every day. She needs someone to look after her, and I couldn't just—"

"Really? There are plenty of people in this world with nowhere to go. Why don't I ever see you helping every one of them?"

The sarcasm came out on its own.

Cameron's face went a little pale.

After a long silence, he did what he always did and brought over a bowl of hot ginger tea he'd made himself.

"Charity, don't be angry. You're freezing, you got soaked. Be careful you don't catch a cold."

He coaxed, then, without asking, tucked my cold feet against him.

"I'm the one who's sorry. Hit me, curse me, whatever you want."

"Just take care of yourself. It took so long to get you healthy again."

It came back to me all at once.

When I first met him, I was still buried in the grief of losing my mother.

Stomach trouble, headaches, insomnia, over and over.

It was Cameron who fed me three meals a day without fail.

Who bought medicine and chased down home remedies to nurse me back.

In the end I put on weight, and he got much thinner.

And somewhere along the way, he'd found another young, simple girl who needed his care.

Cameron still carried the smell of stray cats on him.

It turned my stomach. I reached out and pushed him away.

"Cameron, let's break up."

He looked up at me, disbelief on his face.

"Charity, but we're getting married."

"Just because I stayed with Skye today instead of going with you to take Biscuit to the vet?"

"Over a cat? Is it really worth it?"

"Do you know? Biscuit is dead."

I answered calmly.

"You wanted to know why I showed up there, didn't you? Because I was holding Biscuit while his heart gave out, running to the animal hospital like a madwoman."

"Because my boyfriend, the one who's scared of cats, was off at a stray-cat rescue and couldn't drive me there."

"You didn't care, because that was my cat, not Skye Chandler's."

Every sound Cameron might have made died in his throat.

He couldn't meet my disappointed eyes.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know—"

I turned my head away, not wanting to hear any more.

Before long, it was morning.

I took a cab to the place where Biscuit's farewell was being held.

Cameron followed silently behind me and came in too.

"Charity, I... I want to see Biscuit off one last time."

I ignored him.

Biscuit lay quietly on a little bed, snacks and toys arranged all around him.

I bent over him, crying until I was a mess.

Then a noise broke out at the door.

"Miss, there's a client holding a farewell! You can't go in!"

The next second, Skye came bursting in, out of breath.

"Cameron, Iris said you were here. I knew I'd find you!"

"You didn't pick up my calls. The kitten we adopted, Poppy, is suddenly panicking and won't eat!"

"I really don't know what to do. Can you please come look at Poppy with me—"

Cameron's face went tight with worry in an instant.

"What happened? Wasn't she drinking goat's milk just yesterday? I—"

He glanced at me, hesitating.

Skye must have sensed something. She rushed over and grabbed my wrist.

"Please, let Cameron stay here. Your cat isn't coming back anyway. He'd do more good coming to save our Poppy."

"If that won't do, we'll pick you out the most expensive purebred cat, as a way to make it up to you. Okay?"

I instinctively tried to shake her off.

But Skye wouldn't let go.

In the scramble she stumbled backward and knocked over the little bed Biscuit was on.

There was a thud.

Biscuit's body hit the floor, the little toys and snacks scattering everywhere, the whole place a wreck.

In that moment I finally couldn't hold it in.

I shoved Skye to the ground and screamed at her,

"Why did you barge in here! Couldn't you see someone was holding a farewell?"

"Your cat won't eat, what's that got to do with me! Are you sick? Get out!"

"Shut up! Stop it!"

Cameron pushed Skye behind him and slapped me hard across the face.

There was a crack, and my head snapped to the side.

"Charity Fox, why are you being so unreasonable now! Why are you bullying a young girl?"

His face was hard, his voice cold.

"The cat is already dead. I apologized, and I even promised to get you a better one. What more do you want?"

With that, he took Skye by the hand and hurried off.

I wiped away my tears, picked Biscuit up, and set him back in place.

I finished the farewell with him alone.

Then I packed my things and went back to the little apartment where I'd first kept Biscuit.

I'd barely gotten home when my aunt called, her voice breaking.

"Charity, I told you to come emigrate over here sooner."

"I really can't stand the thought of you all alone back home—"

"Aunt Diana, I'll be there next week."

After I hung up, I booked a flight to Switzerland.