Chapter 3

The doorbell rang.

Amelia went to open the door.

Austin stood right outside.

Dressed in a crisp white shirt, he dangled Amelia’s phone in the air with a faint smirk.

“What are you doing here?”

“Bringing your phone back to you, of course. Your grandmother specifically called to nag me about it.”

Amelia’s tone was light and cheerful. The slight curve of her lips matched the exact smile on Austin’s face.

In just three short years, they already carried the unmistakable likeness of a married couple.

Yet I was the one who was her husband.

Amelia’s gaze fell on his unbuttoned collar, and her brows knitted together slightly. “Wait here a second.”

With that, she brushed past me, crossed the living room, and walked into the guest room.

When she emerged, she was holding a sewing kit.

“I’m going to drop him off at home first. Go to sleep without me,” she said, directing the words at me.

“Are you coming back tonight?”

“Of course.”

Her fingers moved deftly as she threaded the needle. With a few swift, practiced stitches, she embroidered a small daisy onto his shirt collar—yellow petals with a red center.

Austin offered her a fond, indulgent look, shaking his head with a helpless laugh. “She just loves doing this!”

Turning his attention to me, Austin added, “Amelia is really skilled with her hands. If you have any damaged clothes, Nicholas, you can ask her to mend them for you. She does a wonderful job.”

“Was that little cat on your white shirt embroidered by her, too?” I asked.

“Yeah. Does it look good?”

“It looks good.”

A week before we registered our marriage, I had complained that my white shirt looked too plain and asked her to embroider something on it for me.

She had repeatedly made excuses to turn me down. When I pressed the matter a couple of times, she had simply snapped, “Where am I supposed to find the time for that?”

As it turned out, it wasn’t a matter of time at all. It was simply a matter of who was asking.

The elevator arrived with a chime.

Amelia left to walk Austin out.

Once again, I was left all alone in the quiet apartment.

After a moment, I sent her a text message.

“Come back early. I have something to tell you.”

Her reply came back almost immediately: “What is it? Austin is fragile, so I might be back a bit late. Just tell me now.”

“Are you in love with Austin?”

“What kind of nonsense is that? He’s just my friend.”

“You mend his clothes, and you take him to visit your grandmother. But you’ve never mended anything for me, and you’ve never taken me along to see your grandmother. Compared to me, he acts more like your husband.”

A few seconds later, my phone rang. It was Amelia.

“You really misunderstood us over something as silly as this?”

“It’s not a misunderstanding.”

“It’s my fault,” she softened her tone. “Austin told me before that men tend to be possessive. We’ve been apart for three years, so I don’t blame you for misinterpreting things.”

“He said that?”

“That’s not important. What matters is that the one I married is you. We’re going to have a long, long time to be together in the future.”

Her voice suddenly turned rushed. “My ride is here; I really have to go now.

“Don’t overthink things. I’ll be back soon.”

A long time?

Were three years considered a long time?

She had spent three whole years by Austin’s side in Seabrook while I was left entirely alone in Harborcrest.

I went home alone, worked alone, and took care of her grandmother all by myself.

I laughed at myself, though there was no joy in it.

“Three years... is long enough.”

She didn’t come home that night.

The next day, I went into work to hand in my resignation.

Amelia walked in from outside.

“Did you not come home last night?” I asked.

“It was getting too late, and I was afraid of waking you. I just crashed on the couch at his place for the night. You’re not mad, are you?”

“No, I’m not mad.”

“By the way, today is Grandma’s birthday. She invited Austin over—you don’t mind, right?”

“I don’t mind.”

“That’s my Nicholas—always so open-minded.”

It wasn’t that I was open-minded. It was simply that I didn’t care anymore.

By six o’clock in the evening, when I returned home after work, Alessia and Austin had already arrived.

He was sitting right next to Alessia, with Amelia on her other side.

I stood frozen at the entrance for a moment.

Before I could close the front door behind me, a gust of chilly wind swept into the entryway.

Amelia frowned immediately, pulling off her jacket and draping it over Austin’s shoulders.

“Close the door!” her voice was sharp and stern.

I closed the door without a word and sat down in the seat furthest away from their happy little family.

“Two Austins?” Alessia’s mind started wandering again, looking back and forth between us in confusion.

“Alessia, I’m Austin,” he corrected her with a warm smile.

“Ah, look at my terrible memory! Austin, dear, you’re finally back. Amelia waited for you for such a long, long time.”

“Yeah, I’m back now.”

“So, when are you two getting married? I’ve already started putting together everything Amelia will need for the wedding.”

“Alessia, you remembered wrong. Nicholas is Amelia’s husband,” Austin explained politely.

Yet, despite his words, Alessia had already reached out and brought his and Amelia’s hands together, holding them tightly in her lap.

“It’s getting late. I’m going to make dinner. What would you all like to eat?” Amelia stood up, asking the room in general, but keeping her eyes fixed entirely on Austin.

“I want garlic butter shrimp,” Austin chimed in.

Amelia’s face instantly darkened.

Austin was in poor health and was supposed to limit his seafood intake.

Realizing his slip-up, Austin shrank his neck slightly and yielded helplessly. “Whatever you cook, I’ll love it.”

Amelia’s expression softened a little, though she gave him a subtle, warning glare.

Their interactions were natural, intimate, and warm—as if they had seamlessly turned this apartment into their own home in Harborcrest.

Austin turned to look at me. “You haven’t asked Nicholas what he wants to eat yet.”

“He’s not as high-maintenance as you are,” Amelia answered casually. “He’s not a picky eater.”

Not a picky eater?

It was simply that she had never taken the time to learn what I actually liked.