Chapter 3

Before saying goodbye to the young woman, I gave her a sincere smile.

"I'll be publishing new work soon. You won't have to wait much longer."

Right then, heavy footsteps approached from behind. Pierre walked over with a deep frown, clearly irritated that I'd kept him waiting.

"What are you dawdling for? You didn't pick out any swimwear, and you didn't buy sunglasses either. Snap out of it. I promise I'll take you to Lake Tahoe next time, all right?"

With me, there was always a next time.

Charlotte, on the other hand, got whatever she wanted right away.

When she wanted the latest Chanel handbag, Pierre would scour the entire city and pay a hefty markup just to get it into her hands that very day.

But when I wanted the newest Nikon lens, he'd merely promised to ask a friend to help import it for me. I'd spent the following week eagerly waiting for the package, only to ask him about it and hear him casually admit that he'd forgotten.

To him, I had ceased to matter a long time ago.

Perhaps my expression betrayed too much of my disappointment, because his tone softened a little.

"Charlotte is your sister. Why do you always have to compete with her?"

I lowered my eyes and nodded, agreeing with him simply because I didn't have the energy to argue anymore. Satisfied with my response, he smiled and pulled me into a casual side-hug.

"Once we get to Lake Tahoe, I'll have my assistant book the best salon and makeup artist. I promise I'll make every one of your dreams come true and make you the most stunning bride in the world all over again."

Before I could respond, Charlotte and Byron emerged from the store, their arms overflowing with shopping bags. Both were practically out of breath.

"Let's go home," Charlotte announced cheerfully. "I think we bought out the whole store!"

Pierre immediately turned to her with an indulgent smile and reached out to take the bags from her hands.

By the time we reached the car, the skies had opened. Torrential rain poured down, splashing against the hem of my dress as we hurried toward the vehicle.

However, when I tried to get into the passenger seat, I found it completely buried beneath shopping bags. There wasn't even enough room to sit down.

As the rain hammered against the windows, Charlotte leaned forward and looked at me with feigned concern. "Doris, why don't you just take a cab home? There's no room left for you."

Byron slammed the car door shut with all his might while I was still standing beside it. The door caught my knuckles, sending a sharp, agonizing pain through my hand.

I jerked backward in shock, and in my haste, I lost my footing. The heel of my shoe slipped deep into the grate of a storm drain, leaving me struggling to free myself.

Pierre started to get out of the car, eager to check on me.

But Charlotte spoke up anxiously. "The rain's getting heavier by the minute. Driving in weather like this is dangerous!"

Pierre hesitated, then started the engine again. "Take care of yourself."

With that, they drove away into the storm.

I stood there, watching the car disappear through the sheets of rain. The heavy drops pelted my skin, and I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to suppress the sudden, desperate urge to cry.

The high heels trapping my feet had been custom-made for me by a master artisan in Paris. Pierre had given them to me as our eighth-anniversary gift.

Now, as I struggled to pull my foot free, the stiff leather rubbed my heel raw until it was bloody and mangled. The pain felt like a cruel reflection of my marriage, which had gradually worn me down over the years until even the memories of our happiness had begun to blur.

After several failed attempts, I finally gave up. I slipped off the shoes and stepped barefoot into the freezing, muddy water.

The cold rain brought back a memory I'd tried hard to bury. When my postpartum depression was at its worst, I'd climbed onto our balcony, standing dangerously close to the edge.

Pierre had been so terrified that his whole body shook as he begged me not to do anything rash. He'd reminded me that our son needed a mother and that he needed me, too.

In the end, I hadn't jumped.

Instead, I'd stepped down and walked barefoot toward him.

Overwhelmed with relief, Pierre had dropped to one knee, carefully slipped my shoes back onto my feet, and rubbed my ankles between his warm palms until the circulation returned.

"Seeing you freeze like this breaks my heart," he'd whispered.

Back then, even the thought of me suffering had been enough to frighten him. Yet now, as the torrential rain soaked me to the bone and a sharp gust of wind sent violent shivers through my body, he couldn't care less whether I was freezing or not.

I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh and pulled out my phone to call a rideshare. Unfortunately, water had seeped inside. The screen flickered briefly before going black.

With my phone dead and my heel still wedged in the drain, I had no choice but to wait beneath the shelter of a nearby bus stop and hope the rain would let up.

The minutes dragged by until the storm finally began to subside. As I started to leave, a sanitation worker passing by noticed my abandoned shoes and called out, "Hey, are you leaving those behind?"

I glanced down at my bare, muddy feet and managed a bitter smile.

"Yes. I don't need them anymore."