Chapter 2

"Daniel, I'm not just grown up now. I'm Mrs. Halloway, too."

I smiled as I placed our order, just like I always used to. "The same dishes as before. No cilantro, no spice." I knew Adrian's favorites by heart, down to what he couldn't stand.

However, just as the owner nodded, Adrian cut in, "No. Medium spice. And with cilantro."

He turned his gaze on me, puzzlement flickering there before hardening into certainty. "Jules, my tastes changed a long time ago."

My smile froze, but I quickly soothed myself. It was fine. I'd lost ten years of memories. In ten years, people's tastes were bound to change.

I brushed it off, unwrapped his silverware, and handed it to him. "Even better. I like cilantro and spice. Now we can finally share the same dishes."

Instead of taking them, Adrian passed the tableware to the woman who'd been silent until now.

"Van. Here."

Van.

The name made me falter. In that instant, I understood why she'd looked so familiar.

Vanessa Grant was Adrian's first love, his elusive, untouchable, precious sweetheart from when we were twenty.

So some tastes didn't change, not even after ten years.

Was that why, a decade later, I'd decided to divorce the man I'd loved for fifteen years? Because I saw her again?

A sour ache spread through my chest. My fingers brushed the strap of the crossbody bag at my side. Inside was the handwritten divorce agreement and a journal.

Something whispered that if I opened that journal, I'd find the reason I wanted to leave Adrian, but I only clutched the strap tighter, refusing to look.

I loved him.

The twenty-year-old me still loved Adrian with everything I had.

At the table, Adrian and Vanessa talked to each other like no one else was there, as if I didn't exist.

Jealousy burned hot in my eyes. I slammed my plate down just to make a din, to force his attention, but Adrian didn't so much as glance my way.

Maybe the thirty-year-old me could've offered a polite "excuse me" and walked out with her pride.

But twenty-year-old me? I didn't know how to play gracious.

I smacked my cutlery down and snapped, "Adrian, I'm pissed! Really pissed! And nothing you say is going to fix it this time!"

Snatching up my bag, I stormed out of the restaurant.

I loved him. That didn't mean I wouldn't get angry.

I sat on a park bench, waiting for him to come after me, to apologize. However, three hours passed, and he never showed up.

Surrounded by a world that felt foreign and a head gone blank, I somehow managed to cheer myself up again.

It was fine. I'd long since gotten used to Adrian's cold, indifferent ways. Otherwise, I never would've ended up marrying him.

Crossing my legs, I pulled out my phone and messaged him: "Babe, where's our home? You know I've forgotten."

Almost instantly, his reply appeared. It was a pin dropped for a villa named Halloway Villa, and one cutting line: "If your brain's broken, stop wandering. Stop stirring trouble for me."

I ignored that last part, sent him a string of kiss emojis, and added a playful "Thanks, honey!".

When I finally walked into the house, the emptiness hit me like a wall.

Home was a cavernous space, silent and bare. There was only one pair of slippers and one toothbrush. Even the bed had a single pillow.

It didn't feel like a home for two. It felt like a single woman's apartment.

So I went down to the basement, found our dusty old wedding portrait, and hung it back on the wall.

Then I went online, ordered piles of matching couple sets, and placed them carefully in every corner of the house.