Chapter 3

It was only eight when I reached the little family restaurant my parents owned.

The last dinner rush was still going.

I knew how clumsy I could be, so I found a corner and tried not to get in anyone's way.

Instead, Mom and Dad finished the orders already on the stove and closed early.

They took one look at me and knew something was wrong.

I let out a long breath.

"Mom. Dad.

"I think I'm going to divorce Adrian."

They exchanged a look.

After a long silence, Dad asked carefully, "Is this about Celeste?"

My chest tightened.

I stared down at my phone and nodded.

"Yes. And no."

Dad rubbed the edge of his cigarette pack and sighed.

"We helped those two because they seemed like decent kids. I never thought..."

He stopped.

Adrian and I had grown up together.

During our junior year of high school, his father died of cancer.

His mother died by suicide soon afterward.

Relatives took the family house, leaving Adrian with funeral expenses and roughly eighteen thousand dollars in debt.

My parents pitied him.

They also knew I loved him.

So they paid off the debt and helped him finish school.

Celeste hadn't even been called Celeste then.

She was born Roberta Pike, named after the son her family wanted and never got.

We were classmates but barely spoke until I found her cornered in an alley by members of her own family demanding money.

I called the police.

Later, when I learned she was working while studying just to cover tuition, I invited her to take shifts at my parents' restaurant.

Ray and Diane treated her almost like another daughter.

They always slipped extra money into her pay.

After graduation, Celeste finally cut ties with her family and changed her name.

Without them draining her, her life improved quickly.

Unfortunately, the distance between us grew just as fast.

Mom's eyes reddened as she squeezed my hand.

"Then divorce him.

"We helped two people who turned out to be ungrateful. That's on us, not you.

"Your father and I can still take care of our daughter."

Later, we walked through the nearby mall until almost ten.

When the elevator opened outside my parents' apartment, Adrian was already pacing in the hallway with his phone pressed to his ear.

Mom's phone started ringing.

He spun around.

The instant he saw me, relief washed over his face.

"Nora. Why didn't you answer your phone? Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

He'd noticed at the dinner that I hadn't answered his messages for over an hour.

Then my calls went unanswered too.

He panicked, left without his jacket, and rushed home.

When our apartment was empty, he'd come straight here.

His chest was still rising hard from the run.

The right sleeve of his shirt was pushed up, exposing the pale scar along his forearm.

My heart tightened automatically.

The year we graduated, I rented a place of my own because I wanted to prove I could be independent.

One night, a drunk man started pounding on my door.

I called Adrian.

He came immediately.

When the man realized I'd contacted the police, he swung a bottle at Adrian.

Adrian had just joined one of the most prestigious art firms in the country.

His right hand was his entire career.

I cried and called him an idiot for risking it.

He looked at me and said I mattered more than his hand.

We got married soon after.

Over five years, we had plenty of fights.

Every time I saw that scar, I softened first.

My throat burned now.

I looked away.

"My phone froze."

Adrian sighed.

"Then use this."

He pulled out a brand-new orange phone.

My parents looked uncertain.

I only saw the familiar little moon sticker on the case.

Celeste's.

My chest twisted.

"Thanks, but no.

"My parents already bought me one."

I lifted the unopened box in my hand.

Adrian stared at me for a long time, his expression turning cold.

Then he turned and left without another word.