Chapter 3

The photographer continued taking pictures.

When we reached the living room, a design statement on the wall caught my eye. Below it sat a thick portfolio, its cover printed with the title, "A Home in Harmony—The Ideal Living Space for Four Lifelong Friends."

It was Claire's entry for the National Youth Interior Design Competition.

The project description read, "Four friends who have known each other for 20 years come together to create a permanent home built around friendship and shared dreams."

The owner's name had been blurred out. But under "Clients", it listed Claire Dickson, Terry Boyle, Mark Sullivan, and Wayne Tucker. My name was nowhere to be found.

The house I'd bought with my dad's inheritance was portrayed in her project as a home the four of them owned together.

"What's this?" I asked, holding up the portfolio.

A flicker of unease crossed Claire's face. "It's just how I presented the project for the competition. The judges like projects with a story. Framing it around the four of us gives it more emotional impact."

"And what about me?" I asked.

"You're not in the design industry. What does it matter if your name isn't there?"

She made it sound like I was just someone who had provided the house, with no place in the story she was telling.

Terry chimed in, trying to smooth things over. "Come on, man. If Claire wins, it benefits you too. You get to brag to everyone that your place was designed by an award-winning designer."

I closed the portfolio and asked, "Did you get my permission before entering my house in the competition?"

"We're getting married. Do I really need to get your permission and sign an authorization form?" Claire looked at me irritably. "Andrew, why are you turning everything into an issue today?"

I scoffed. "Because it's an issue. And we're going to settle everything today."

Realizing that I was angry with him, Terry walked away.

While packing up my dad's belongings, I noticed that a model train set was missing.

It was a discontinued collection of steam locomotives that my dad had spent three years building. He died of an illness before he could finish the final car.

When I bought the place, I set aside a climate-controlled room specifically for his collection. But Claire complained that the models took up too much space and shoved most of them into storage cabinets.

I opened the cabinets, but all I found were empty boxes.

"Where are the models?" I asked.

No one answered.

I pulled up the security footage and scrolled back to two weeks ago.

The video showed Terry walking into the livestream room holding the model set.

He announced, "We just hit 100,000 viewers today, guys! To celebrate, I'm giving away this discontinued handmade model set to a lucky fan!"

The live chat went wild.

Sitting off-camera, Claire laughed. "That thing is worth a lot. Are you really giving it away?"

Terry waved it off. "Doesn't matter how much it's worth. It's nothing compared to my fans."

For a moment, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I fast-forwarded the video.

After the livestream ended, Claire even praised him for knowing how to drive engagement. Neither of them cared who the model train set belonged to.

I closed the video and called Terry. He answered quickly.

"Where's the model train set?" I asked, gritting my teeth.

There were a few seconds of silence on the other end. "Andrew, why are you suddenly asking about it?"

"Where is it?" I raised my voice.

Terry cleared his throat. "The winner hasn't sent us an address yet, so I haven't shipped it. It's in the back of the storage room."

When I found the model set, the box had been ripped open. The coupling on one of the train cars had snapped. My dad had painstakingly made that piece by hand. Now it had been hastily held together with tape.

Claire came over and saw me crouched on the floor. Her voice softened slightly. "I'm sure you can fix it. You build models all the time anyway."

I looked up at her. "This belonged to my dad."

"I know," she said.

After a brief pause, she added, "But it was just sitting there. Terry's channel is taking off right now, and using it for a giveaway really helped his numbers."

I stared at her for a long time.

We'd been together for five years. She knew it had always been just my dad and me, and she knew how much that model set meant to me. Yet in her eyes, something my dad had left me was still less important than a quick boost in Terry's numbers.

"Claire, if someone had given away something your dad left behind, would you still say the same thing?" I asked.

Her expression changed. "Do you really have to make that comparison? Besides, the model is right here!"

I didn't bother arguing. I simply gathered all the models and put them back in their boxes one by one.

There was no point arguing with someone who wasn't willing to understand why I was hurt.

All Claire cared about was whether my pain would get in their way.