Chapter 3

Satisfaction curved Ryan's mouth.

"Good. You could never wear a dress like that again. Making it would only waste money."

He reached for my shoulder.

I stepped aside without comment, changed clothes, and walked Rachel to the elevator myself.

Before the doors closed, Ryan pushed a straw into a carton of oat milk and handed it to Sophie.

"You can't handle dairy. Drink this instead."

I was lactose intolerant too.

It was the first time he'd ever bought oat milk, and he'd bought it for someone else.

"Hannah, is that girl your friend?

"I don't mean to interfere, but Ryan brought Sophie to my store two days ago and bought more than thirty outfits. Some were casual, some formal. He said it didn't matter that she couldn't wear most of them to graduation.

"So why'd he call your reception dress a waste? Once you remove the wedding label, it's just a red evening dress."

Rachel held the dress with open disbelief.

I remembered the graduation robe Sophie had worn beside Ryan in her posts.

She'd been required to wear that robe, yet Ryan had still been happy to buy thirty other outfits for later.

I said nothing and transferred payment to Rachel.

"No. You canceled the order. I can't take your money."

"Your time still cost something. Besides, I need you to help me with one thing."

I didn't go back upstairs. I went straight to work.

When I returned that evening, Sophie was gone and Ryan was showering.

I packed my belongings in the bedroom. As I rolled the suitcase into the study, Ryan appeared in the doorway, rubbing a towel over his hair.

"I've barely slept these past few days. I spent today helping Sophie find a new apartment.

"I'm going to bed. You should turn in early too."

He entered the main bedroom, then looked back in surprise.

"Han, did you wash the wedding quilt and linens?"

I nodded.

His brows drew together in disapproval.

"You're not planning to put that old red wedding set on the bed, are you?"

"It looks dated. I'm not sleeping in it."

He backed out, yawned, and headed into the guest room.

"Sleep in it yourself if you like it. I'll stay in here until you change everything back."

The door closed.

The guest room was red too.

It was simply the warm tomato red Sophie liked.

For the last six months, Ryan had brought her home constantly while helping with her graduate thesis.

He'd personally taken her shopping and chosen the bedding she preferred.

Tacky or attractive. Comfortable or impossible to sleep in.

He didn't have a fixed standard for any of it.

He merely had one standard for Sophie and another for me.

I packed through the entire night.

At dawn, the quilt and linens were dry. I folded them carefully and placed them in my suitcase.

Then I went into the living room and took an old photograph from the drawer.

It showed my mother standing beside Ryan's.

They'd been close friends and coworkers before they died in the Harrow Mill fire.

Before my mother died, she told me she'd sewn the quilt by hand as a wedding gift.

Ryan's mother had left him a brooch and asked him to give it to his future wife.

Ryan and I had met at their joint memorial service.

Whenever we spoke of our mothers afterward, grief had always brought us closer.

He once promised to pin that brooch onto my dress at our wedding.

Now the wedding was canceled, and the brooch belonged to someone else.

The guest-room door suddenly opened. Ryan stepped out rubbing his eyes, his voice flat.

"Why didn't you wake me? I'm helping Sophie move today."

A crushing weight settled over my chest.

I hadn't intended to ask, but I couldn't stop myself.

"Why did you give Sophie the brooch?"

His fingers paused, and he frowned.

"Why shouldn't she wear it? She needed something for her graduation photos, and it looked good on her."

"Your mother left that for-"

"Hannah, when did you become so superstitious and old-fashioned?"

His scolding tone pinned me in place.

"It's one brooch. It would only collect dust in a box, so I gave it to someone who could use it.

"And can't you stop turning everything into a ceremony? Life moves forward. Isn't it exhausting to keep clinging to objects and old promises?"