Chapter 2

After I went inside, I opened the shoe cabinet. My house slippers were gone.

The pair on Sophie's feet was the new one I'd bought for myself.

She followed my gaze, looked down, and hurried to take them off.

Marcus stopped her. "Don't bother. The floor is cold."

Then he looked at me. "They're only slippers. Is this really necessary?"

Only slippers. Only an access setting.

Eventually, I would become "only Natalie," too.

I took the medicine from him but didn't use it.

Our engagement photograph had once sat on the nightstand in the primary bedroom. Now it had been replaced by Sophie's calming diffuser and sleep spray.

Marcus said she would stay for only three days, but three pairs of her shoes, arranged by season, were already in the cabinet.

I opened my messages with my realtor, Rachel Royce, and sent one.

[I want to relist the condo. As soon as possible.]

The reply came quickly. [Ms. Foster, are you certain? Didn't you plan to live there after the wedding?]

I listened to Marcus comforting Sophie softly outside the room.

[I'm certain.]

This condo was no longer my home.

The next morning, voices from the kitchen woke me.

Marcus was making breakfast.

Low-sugar pumpkin oatmeal, served warm.

I'd had stomach trouble for years, yet he'd never remembered that pumpkin triggered my acid reflux.

But when he carried out the first bowl, he handed it to Sophie.

"You didn't sleep well last night. Eat something first."

Wrapped in my cashmere shawl, Sophie sat at the dining table and said softly, "I'm sorry for being such a burden."

I stood in the bedroom doorway.

Only then did Marcus notice me.

"Natalie, there's more in the pot. Serve yourself."

I entered the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. The unsweetened yogurt I drank every day was gone.

In its place was a row of oat milk and allergen-free bread.

I remembered the day before my endoscopy last month. He hadn't even remembered when I had to stop eating, yet he'd asked whether I could pick up coffee for him on the way.

He wasn't careless. He simply never spent that care on me.

I opened the medicine cabinet. My stomach medication had expired six months ago.

Sophie's melatonin, anti-anxiety medication, heating patches, and vitamins were neatly separated and fully stocked.

Marcus entered and saw me searching the cabinet. His explanation came naturally.

"Sophie's doing badly right now. She can't miss her medication, so I stocked up."

I asked, "Did you know mine expired?"

He paused.

"Aren't you usually good at toughing things out?"

The sentence was like a fine needle. It didn't stab deeply, but it hurt everywhere.

I closed the cabinet.

"Right. I can handle it."

So naturally, I deserved to come last.

During breakfast, Sophie suddenly asked, "Natalie, could I use the vanity in the primary bedroom for a few days? I have a lot of things."

Marcus answered for her.

"Go ahead. Natalie hardly wears makeup lately anyway."

I looked at him. "It's mine."

Marcus frowned. "I know it's yours. She's only borrowing it. Don't be so sensitive."

Sophie's eyes instantly filled with tears.

"Forget it. I won't use it. Please don't argue because of me."

Marcus set down his spoon, his voice growing heavier.

"Natalie, she's already trying to be careful. Can you stop making her feel like she's a burden?"

I almost laughed. I was still paying the mortgage on this condo.

I'd bought the table and chosen every plate and pan.

Even the chair he was sitting in had been paid for with three months of overtime bonuses.

Yet somehow, I was the one burdening her.

Marcus went to work that morning, and Sophie returned to the primary bedroom to sleep.

I entered the office to find my documents and found several pink storage bins beside the desk.

Each label had been carefully printed.

[Natalie's backup items.]

I stared at the word "backup," my throat tightening.

Inside my own home, even my belongings had become the backups.

A notification appeared on my phone.

Sophie had posted an update the night before.

The photograph showed a corner of the primary bedroom: the curtains, bedside lamp, and diffuser I'd personally selected.

The caption read, [I finally have a safe little place where I can sleep.]

Marcus had liked it.

He'd also commented, [Stay as long as you need.]

I stared at those words for a long time, then saved a screenshot.

Afterward, I opened my laptop and began organizing the finances.

The down payment, mortgage installments, home improvement loan, furniture, appliances, condo fees, electricity, water, and gas.

I listed every payment Marcus had transferred.

I'd never kept score before. I thought marriage meant becoming a family, and it didn't matter who contributed more.

Only now did I understand that the person who never kept score often ended up losing even her place in the home.

Rachel called and asked whether she could photograph the condo that afternoon.

I said yes.

"Ms. Foster, does your fiancé know?"

I looked at the accounts and answered calmly.

"He isn't the owner."

The other end went quiet for a moment.

"That makes things easier."