Chapter 2

I picked up the takeout box and dropped it straight into the trash.

The pipe upstairs was leaking again.

A cold drop struck the tip of my nose as soon as I stepped into the foyer.

The house rose five levels, all polished stone and glass and empty rooms. Adrian had called it his gift to me, for the ten years I'd spent sharing every hardship he endured.

Only his name was on the deed.

The decorating had been left to me. So had every chore.

Adrian said he hated having strangers in the house, which meant I washed the dishes and scrubbed the floors. I changed the light bulbs, unclogged the toilets, and patched the pipes too.

That night, listening to water drip steadily through the ceiling, I couldn't summon the strength to wipe up one more puddle.

I sank onto the couch just as my best friend called.

"Nora, did you and Adrian finally pick a date?" Rachel asked. "I need enough time to fly back for the wedding and be your maid of honor."

My fingers curled into my palm.

After a long silence, I said, "There isn't going to be a wedding."

"What? Why not?

"You gave up a place at an overseas conservatory to help Adrian build his company. You took the hands you trained to play violin and used them to cook and wash his clothes for ten years.

"Now that you've finally made it through the worst of it, you're walking away? Are you out of your mind?"

I let her anger run its course. When she finally fell quiet, I spoke in an even voice.

"I had steak tonight."

"What?"

"It cost seven hundred dollars a plate. But it didn't taste half as good as the cheap instant noodles we used to share in our old apartment."

Rachel went silent.

Then her voice softened. "Whatever you decide, I'm with you. My orchestra in Sydney needs another violinist. If you're ready to play again, the chair is yours."

I clutched the hem of my shirt until my knuckles hurt, fighting down the emotion swelling in my chest.

"Thank you."

The call had barely ended when a trending local post flashed across my screen.

In the photo, Chloe stood beside the Chicago River, holding her blue roses beneath the city lights. A message rolled across the giant display on the building behind her.

HAPPY 21ST BIRTHDAY TO MY SWEET CHLOE.

The comments poured in.

Did I just stumble into a billionaire's love confession?

Whoever paid for that screen has MONEY. I heard it costs fifteen thousand dollars a minute!

Then Adrian's verified account appeared beneath the post.

May my girl never know another unhappy day.

Chloe answered within seconds.

Here's to our beautiful future together!

A tear struck my screen and scattered the light into tiny blurred stars.

I wiped it away and stared at Adrian's profile picture. The background was the oatmeal-colored curtain from our old basement apartment.

It had been cheap fabric, too thin to block the streetlights. The first time Adrian complained he couldn't sleep, I found a length of heavy cloth and sat on the floor all night sewing it to the back of the curtain by hand.

When I hung it the next morning, Adrian stumbled over, still half asleep, and wrapped his arms around me.

"How are you this good to me?" he whispered into my ear. "When I make it, I’ll put you in charge of everything—the company and all our money."

I laughed and shook my head, tugging at the rough curtain.

"I don't want any of that. Just don't forget the years we survived in this little apartment, behind this curtain."

He made the curtain his profile picture that day and never changed it.

Now he was using that same photograph—the record of everything we'd endured together—to promise another woman a future.

It was time for me to leave too.