Chapter 4

Six days after we moved into the new house, Ethan and I reached our third anniversary.

Two days earlier, I had sent him a message to confirm our plans.

Saturday afternoon. You still remember, right?

He answered almost immediately.

Of course I remember.

Even after everything, those words made me smile.

On Saturday morning, I searched through my boxes for the only cardigan that had not begun to pill, cleaned the stains from my white sneakers, and spent half an hour applying makeup in the small mirror inside the storage closet.

I wanted Ethan to notice that I had made an effort.

For once, I wanted him to see me before he saw Sophie.

I arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early and chose a table facing the entrance.

I ordered Ethan’s favorite iced latte and a black coffee for myself.

At two o’clock, I sent him a message.

I’m here.

At two thirty, I told myself he was caught in traffic.

At three, the ice in his latte had melted, so I asked the server to replace it.

I did not want him to arrive and find his drink warm.

At three thirty, I called him.

No answer.

Every time the restaurant door opened, I lifted my head.

None of them was Ethan.

I had been waiting for two and a half hours.

My makeup had begun to crease beneath my eyes, and the cardigan I had searched so hard for suddenly felt cheap and ridiculous.

At six, my phone finally vibrated.

I’m really sorry. Sophie wanted to visit the river where her dad used to take her. She was in a terrible state, and I was afraid to leave her alone. I’ll make it up to you another day, okay?

There was a photograph beneath the message.

Sophie stood beside the railing with her head lowered, while Ethan stood close beside her, their shadows overlapping in the sunset.

Anyone who saw it would have believed they were lovers sharing a private grief.

No one would have guessed that his girlfriend was waiting alone in a restaurant on their third anniversary.He had not merely forgotten to come.

While my calls went unanswered, one of them had taken out a phone and captured the sunset, and Ethan had chosen that photograph to send to me.

He wanted me to understand why Sophie needed him, but he never considered what it would feel like to see them standing together like a couple while his untouched drink melted across from me.

I paid for both drinks and walked home alone.

No one asked why I returned wearing makeup or where I had been.

Mom was arranging decorations in Sophie’s room while Ryan hung another string of lights above her desk.

I passed them and entered the storage closet.

Then I lay down on the yoga mat.

Four days remained.

I told myself that one missed anniversary would not matter once I was gone.

The next morning, Ethan arrived carrying a bouquet of flowers wrapped in cream-colored paper.

My heart lifted before I could stop it.

I thought he had come to apologize.

I stepped out of the storage closet, but Ethan walked past me and went straight into Sophie’s room.

“Sophie,” he said gently. “Yesterday was difficult, so I brought you something.”

“I thought these might cheer you up after yesterday.”

“Ethan, thank you,” Sophie whispered.

For three years, Ethan had told me flowers were impractical because they died too quickly.

On Valentine’s Day, he gave me a phone charger and joked that at least it was useful.

I had laughed because I did not want him to think I was demanding.

Now I understood.

Ethan did not dislike flowers.

He had simply never believed any occasion in my life was worth buying them for.

“Ethan.”

He turned, and guilt crossed his face before he could hide it.

“Yesterday was our third anniversary.”

He stared at me, then slapped his forehead.

“Right. I knew I was forgetting something.”

Forgetting something.

Not forgetting me, but forgetting something, the way a person forgot an appointment or an item from a grocery list.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “We’ll celebrate another day. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

I looked past him at the flowers in Sophie’s arms.

“But you remembered to buy her flowers.”

“I passed a florist on the way here. It was just something small to cheer her up.”

“You have never bought me flowers.”

His expression tightened.

“Nora.”

“Not once in three years.”

The hallway fell silent as Ryan’s door opened behind us.

Ethan’s apology faded as irritation replaced it.

“Can you stop making everything into a competition?” he asked.

“I am not competing with her.”

“That is exactly what you’re doing. Sophie went to the river because she misses her father. She cried for hours, and I bought her flowers to make her feel better.”

“Yesterday was our anniversary.”

“I know that now.”

“You knew two days ago.”

He exhaled sharply.

“Her father is dead, Nora. We can celebrate an anniversary any day. She cannot get another father.”

The words reduced our relationship to something that could always be postponed.

Sophie’s grief was sacred.

My disappointment was an inconvenience.

Ryan walked toward us and immediately took Ethan’s side.

“Nora, that is enough. Her father died saving my life, so of course this family gives her more attention. Why are you trying to take one bouquet away from her?”

“I do not want her flowers.”

“Then what do you want?”

The question sounded like an accusation.

I looked at Ethan, waiting for him to understand that this was never about flowers. It was about the way he protected Sophie’s feelings while treating mine as unreasonable.

He only looked tired of the conversation.

So I stopped waiting for an answer and returned to the storage closet.

Behind me, Ryan muttered something about jealousy.

At dinner, Sophie quietly placed a piece of pork in my bowl.

“Nora, please don’t stay angry. Ethan already feels terrible.”

Even her apology was asking me to make things easier for them.

She sounded sincere, which only made it hurt more.

Sophie had never demanded my bedroom or asked Ethan to abandon me. She simply stood in the center of every room while the people I loved carried my share of their affection toward her.

Then, when she noticed I had nothing, she offered me a small piece back.

A dress in her favorite color.

Food from her table.

An apology on behalf of my boyfriend.

Everyone saw those crumbs and called her kind, while no one asked why I was expected to be grateful for leftovers.

“I’m not angry with you,” I said.

After midnight, I looked at the calendar.

Three days remained.

In three days, Ethan would no longer be able to promise that he would make it up to me another time, and my family would no longer be able to ask me to be more generous, more understanding, or more willing to wait.

They believed I would always be there after Sophie had been comforted.

They did not know they were running out of time.