Chapter 3

Passing the living room, I saw Gavin’s clothes mixed in with her lacy women’s wear on the balcony drying rack.

Including men’s underwear, pressed tightly against Chloe’s intimates.

Chloe followed my gaze and said casually:

"That bastard Gavin drank too much last night. He threw up all over himself and me."

"So I washed his clothes while I was at it."

It sounded like an explanation, but her words were full of provocation.

She used to be less obvious about it.

She even used to promise me that she and Gavin were just friends with no ulterior motives.

She stopped saying that a couple of years ago, adopting a "believe what you want" attitude instead.

Now, she had upgraded to declaring war with her eyes and veiled words.

She was waiting for me to tear away the facade between her and Gavin, waiting for me to tear into her.

But I merely gave a calm, "Mhm."

Looking away, I accidentally spotted Gavin’s favorite coffee beans on the coffee table.

Just like in our home, where there was always a stock of Chloe’s favorite juice.

I was much calmer than I imagined.

After Chloe’s initial shock, a hint of disappointment flashed in her eyes.

After all, I didn’t blow up at her like she expected.

I hadn’t satisfied her craving to play the innocent victim and win Gavin’s sympathy.

I followed her into the room.

As soon as I walked in, I saw the wall above the headboard covered with a corkboard full of photos of them together.

There were candid everyday snapshots and warm, intimate studio portraits, spanning every year from elementary school to the present.

The photo right in the center instantly drew the eye, featuring Chloe in a white silk gown and a sheer mesh headpiece.

She was holding hands with Gavin, who was in a custom suit, running on a beach.

It wasn’t a wedding photo, but it might as well have been.

In every photo, Gavin was smiling naturally and happily.

Chloe followed my gaze to the photo wall and said:

"These are the beautiful memories Gavin and I have recorded from childhood to now."

Not a single emotion rippled through me. I realized then that once your heart turns to ashes, nothing can touch you anymore.

My voice just grew a bit colder :

"They certainly are your beautiful memories."

She looked at me and deliberately suggested:

"Jane, do you want to join our photo wall?"

She was being passive-aggressive, reminding me that I was the last to join them.

Even after being with Gavin for twelve years, I was still the outsider.

Facing her provocative stare, I remained calm:

"A game for two isn’t fun with three."

I didn’t want to waste my breath on her, so I asked again:

"Where is the pillow?"

Chloe didn’t expect me to be so calm, and her smile grew a bit stiff.

She walked over to the closet, opened it, and purposely complained while searching:

"Gavin is unbelievable! Where did he stuff that pillow? He’s usually not this forgetful."

"I really need to scold him about this later."

I stood by in silence, calmly watching her direct and act in her own little play.

She pulled a pile of Gavin’s clothes out of the closet, along with a few pairs of underwear.

Chloe looked at me and smiled.

"Jane, don't get me wrong. Gavin only stays here one week a month at most."

"I really do envy you, Gavin is still as thoughtful as ever."

"Every time he comes, he brings me my favorite caramel macchiato. He knows I don't like it too sweet, so he always specifically asks them to go light on the sugar."

My heart sank.

So every morning before work, when he stopped by the coffee shop to get me an oat milk latte, patting my head and saying in that doting tone, "I know my baby doesn't like it too sweet," I wasn't the only one.

I thought I was the only person whose preferences he remembered so carefully.

"When I'm exhausted from working overtime, he massages my shoulders. Always tells me I work too hard and need to take better care of myself."

Chloe looked at me, the corners of her mouth lifting into a smile she couldn't quite control.

I thought back to those nights coming home late from overtime. He'd have me sit on the couch, place his hands on my shoulders, and say the exact same words while massaging.

I thought that tenderness belonged only to me.

Chloe paused, unable to hide the smugness in her eyes.

"He keeps some clothes here. Says it's more convenient."

She called it an explanation, but every single word was a provocation.

I said: "You don’t need to report your affairs to me. I’m just here for the pillow."

Chloe gave me a look that said, "Let’s see how long you can keep this up."

She flung off the neatly spread blanket.

It revealed the pink lace-trimmed pillow placed neatly at the headboard.

And right next to the pillow, lay an opened box of condoms.