Chapter 2

Julian looked at me coldly. His eyes were distant and foreign, as if he were looking at a hysterical madwoman.

"Chloe, this is exhausting."

"Making a scene over such a small thing. You're acting crazy."

The impatience in his voice felt like a bucket of ice water poured over my head.

All my boiling emotions instantly froze. I was left completely numb.

I stared at him blankly, realizing for the first time how much of a stranger he had become.

Perhaps sensing the heavy tension, his tone softened slightly as he tried to smooth things over.

"Alright, don't be mad. I know Stella used to be a bit stubborn and immature. But she knows she was wrong now. Can't you just let the past go?"

The "stubborn and immature" behavior he spoke of was ten years of severe abuse from Stella and her mother.

In that house, I was never allowed to get better grades than Stella.

I was never allowed to have anything in my room that Stella didn't have.

If anything displeased her, they would lock the door and torment me.

They burned me with hot cigarette butts on my thighs and pricked the skin under my fingernails with sewing needles.

In places hidden from view, fresh wounds covered old scars. They never fully healed.

I once tried to tell my father.

But he only said dismissively, "It's not easy for me either, Chloe. They won't go too far. Just endure it."

My stepmother and stepsister were smart. They never hit my face.

All the scars were hidden beneath my baggy school hoodies—a nightmare that haunted my entire adolescence.

Until Julian appeared.

During our senior year of high school, Stella was furious because I won the National Science Olympiad. She and her mother cornered me in my room again.

But Julian kicked the door open.

He grabbed a small paring knife, stood firmly in front of me, and screamed at them.

"If you ever touch her again, I will kill you!"

That was the first time anyone had ever protected me.

He was my hero, the only light that pulled me out of the swamp.

But now, my hero was telling me, with absolute indifference, that I should forgive them.

That I shouldn't hold a grudge.

Since that night, Julian and I entered a cold war.

Usually, if I ignored him for more than three hours, he would come crawling back, begging for forgiveness.

This time, he didn't.

In fact, during this rare holiday break, he started leaving early and coming home late.

It went on until our son, Leo, tugged at my hem, looking up with tearful eyes.

"Mommy, does Daddy not want me anymore? Why don't I ever see him?"

Looking at my son's tear-streaked face, I realized I couldn't let my relationship with Julian fall apart like this.

I had thought about divorce.

But how could I throw away years of love just like that?

More importantly, we had a son.

I decided to talk to him one last time.

I called Julian, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Hey... do you want to have braised short ribs tonight? I can make them for you."

This was the most graceful peace offering I could manage.

There was a long silence on the other end, so long that I thought he would reject me.

"Okay. I'll be home early."

Just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, a cheerful, high-pitched female voice rang out in the background.

"Julian! Hurry up! Let's go to the next ride!"

It sounded exactly like Stella.

My heart clenched. Before I could ask anything, he hung up in a hurry.

I tried to console myself. Don't overthink it. Don't be paranoid. Maybe they just ran into each other.

But when the grandfather clock in the living room struck 8:00 PM, there was still no sign of him.

The dinner on the table had gone completely cold, and a layer of white grease had formed over the ribs.

I called his phone. No one picked up.

My anxiety peaked when a friend request popped up on my phone.

The message read:

[Want to see where your husband is right now?]