Chapter 1 The Home I No Longer Had

I wanted to storm inside and ask them why they had lied to me and how long this had been going on.

But the moment Vincent looked up, I fled in panic, as though I were the one who had no business being seen, an intruder spying on someone else's happiness.

I didn't stop until I had run out of the hospital. My heart felt lodged in my throat, making me so sick I thought I was going to throw up.

Just then, Siobhan texted me. "I'm sorry, Ginny. I forgot that place closed down ages ago. I'm sure you had to rush back overnight without getting any sleep. Go home and get some rest."

I laughed bitterly.

Go home? Where? Did I even have a home anymore?

I always believed I had a room forever in my mother's house. The house Vincent and I shared was registered solely in my name. And I had the password to Siobhan's front door, too.

She once told me, "My home is your home—no. This is our home."

Two months into our marriage, Vincent was assigned to a classified project expected to last at least two years. I spent most of that time at Siobhan's place. She used to joke that the two of us looked more like newlyweds than Vincent and I did.

Once, I returned from a two-week business trip and found a condom tucked between the cushions of her sofa. I was shocked and teased her about when she had gotten a boyfriend.

Her face immediately turned scarlet, and she stammered, "No, he's not my boyfriend… It's just…"

"Anyway, there's no way I can be with him. Ginny, if I did something immoral, would you hate me?" she asked.

Without hesitation or regard for principle, I stood firmly by her side. If she didn't want to tell me who he was, I respected that. I just didn't want her to get hurt.

Six months ago, when I found out she was pregnant and had decided to keep the baby, I was shocked and worried.

But the first thing I said was still meant to reassure her. "It's okay. If you're having the baby, I'll raise it with you."

She had been so moved that she choked up, apologizing profusely.

Only now did I realize that I had misunderstood everything. Worse, the man she had refused to name was actually my husband.

The truth had come back around like a boomerang and struck me squarely between the eyes.

…

I went back to my mother's house, only to find that the lock had been replaced with a fingerprint lock at some point. I couldn't get inside.

Half an hour later, my mother returned. When she saw me sitting on the floor outside, she unlocked the door and scolded me as she walked in.

"Was your phone dead? Why didn't you reply to Shivvy on WhatsApp? She was worried you hadn't seen her message and had gone to the college town for nothing. She even called you several times."

I stared at her slightly stooped back, feeling as though I were looking at a stranger.

"If you're back too, who's taking care of her at the hospital?" I asked.

Her hand paused for a second as she changed her shoes. "The postpartum nurse we'd arranged had arrived, and there were nurses at the hospital, too. You don't need to worry about it."

With that, she went into the bathroom to freshen up.

Evidently, my concern was unnecessary to them. The moment they heard that Siobhan had gone into labor early, I rushed back to see her, only to become a burden.

Just then, my mother's phone rang in her purse, so I took it out.

The lock screen had already been changed to a photo of the baby. Before that, it had been a silly picture of her and Siobhan making faces together.

The password was always Siobhan's birthday—and also the anniversary of her mother's death.

On Siobhan's 12th birthday, I had suddenly developed a stomachache after eating the birthday cake. Her mother had frantically driven me to the hospital, but on the way there, she got into a car accident. She died despite the doctors' efforts to save her.

The adults had all comforted me and told me it wasn't my fault, but I always thought I owed Siobhan a mother.

As such, my mother took her in as her goddaughter, showering her with affection and treating her far better than she treated me.

Whenever the seasons changed, she bought Siobhan new clothes while I wore the ones Siobhan had outgrown.

If my mother had freshly squeezed orange juice especially for Siobhan, I wouldn't be allowed to drink it first. If there was one last piece of spare rib, it was always for her.

For Siobhan's 16th birthday, my mother gave her a pearl necklace. I got nothing more than a bowl of buttered noodles.

I had always thought all of that was perfectly natural and never once thought that it was unfair.

Besides, Siobhan simply had a better personality than I did. She was considerate and attentive, and she always knew exactly what to say. It was only natural that my mother liked her more.

I had kept giving way until, in the end, everyone had simply grown accustomed to it.