Chapter 3

When I reached my father's studio with the notice to vacate, the movers had already pried the door open.

"Stop. All of you."

The foreman glanced at the project manager Ingrid had sent over. "Ms. Walton said everything has to be cleared out today. Mr. Rutherford, please don't make things hard for us."

I planted myself in the doorway. "The drawings and models inside are private property. If anyone touches them, I'm calling the police immediately."

Charlie got out of the car, holding the glass jar filled with stars in his arms. "John, I'm the one who told them to stop for now."

I stared at what he was holding. "Why do you have that?"

"When Ingrid came over last night, she brought this with her."

He stroked the glass jar with a gentle smile. "The notes were meant for me in the first place. She said keeping them at your place would just keep the misunderstanding alive."

I held out my hand. "Give me the jar."

Charlie didn't move. "John, you've had her for five years. Can't you give me back even this much of the past?"

"My father made that jar himself. It has nothing to do with the notes inside."

He hugged the jar tighter, tears glistening in his eyes. "But Ingrid gave it to me."

"Charlie."

Ingrid's voice came from behind him.

She went straight to him, draping her own scarf over his shoulders before anything else. "It's windy. Go wait in the car."

I looked at her. "You know exactly who made that jar."

"I'll have an identical one made for you."

"This is the only one my dad ever made for me."

Ingrid went quiet for a moment. She then said in a much gentler voice, "Charlie likes it. Let him hold onto it for a few days."

A few days again, huh? To her, everything was just temporary or could be postponed, just like how my project would only temporarily have his name, how we could celebrate our anniversary later, and how she'd only be spending those stormy nights with him temporarily.

As Charlie headed for the car, he tripped over a cable, and the glass jar slipped from his arms. I instinctively lunged for it.

Ingrid got to Charlie first, catching him and pulling him aside. The jar hit the concrete, and the shattering sound pierced my ears. Paper stars and shards scattered everywhere.

Charlie went pale. "I'm sorry. It was an accident."

I crouched down for the jar's base, the piece engraved with my name. I was about to reach it when Ingrid's heel came down on top of it. "Leave it. You'll cut yourself."

"Move your foot."

"The workers will clean it up."

"I said move, Ingrid."

With a frown, she stepped back.

The piece of glass had already been crushed into even smaller shards. I reached for it anyway, and a shard immediately sliced my fingertip open.

Ingrid seized my hand. "You're really going to hurt yourself over a broken jar?"

"Right. It's just a broken jar." I pulled my hand away. "So of course you won't remember how, at the end of his life, my father sat beside the kiln and carved my name into it, one letter at a time."

Ingrid's expression went stiff. Charlie spoke softly, blaming himself for what had happened. "It's all my fault. If John really cares that much, I'll give the project back to him too."

"Don't bother." I stood and tore the notice to vacate in half. "I'll be taking the project back myself, along with everything else."

Ingrid blocked my path. "You have to attend this afternoon's signing ceremony as Charlie's project consultant."

"You use my work, let him take the credit, and then expect me to answer the investors' questions for him?"

"It's just a signing ceremony." She lowered her voice. "He just came back to the country. He needs this opportunity. You already have me. You don't need to fight him over everything."

A dull ache suddenly flared in my stomach. I steadied myself against the doorframe, cold sweat trickling down my forehead.

Ingrid had just reached out to steady me when Charlie, who was a few feet away, suddenly clutched his chest and said he couldn't breathe.

Ingrid stopped for a beat, then walked past me to help him into the car. Before shutting the door, she glanced back at the project manager. "Take him to the signing ceremony. Make sure he doesn't leave halfway."

I checked my phone and saw a reminder from the hospital about my follow-up appointment.

The doctor had warned me just yesterday that my stomach lining showed signs of potentially severe bleeding and that I needed to rest immediately.

I called Ingrid, and she was quick to answer. "Charlie isn't feeling well. I'm taking him to the hospital first."

"I need to go to the hospital too."

"You just have a stomachache. It can wait until after the signing."

"And what if it's not just a stomachache?"

There was a second of silence on the other end. Then Charlie's labored breathing came through the phone.

Ingrid murmured a few soothing words to him before speaking to me again. "John, stop turning this into a contest of who's worse off."

She hung up. The project manager opened the car door for me. "Sir, Ms. Walton said that even if we have to carry you there, you're going to that venue today."

I looked down. Bright red blood trickled from the corner of my mouth and dripped down. Before the signing ceremony began, I went to the bathroom.

After I swallowed some painkillers, all that remained was a tightening sensation in my abdomen. I called the hospital, and after hearing what was happening, the doctor immediately told me to go to the emergency room.

The project manager stood guard outside the door. "Sir, the investors have arrived."

"Tell Ingrid my stomach may be about to perforate."

The color drained from his face. He immediately made the call.

As soon as the call connected, he spoke briefly before handing the phone to me.