Lahat ng Kabanata ng He Chose my Cousin, so I Chose Revenge: Kabanata 191 - Kabanata 200

The boutique had been quiet all afternoon. The kind of quiet where you could hear the faint ticking of the clock on the back wall and the soft hum of the refrigerator in the stockroom. I had spent most of the day folding scarves, rearranging a stack of handwoven shawls, and brushing a faint trail of lint from the shoulders of two display dresses. It was work I could have done in half the time, but I was in no rush.Julian was at the counter, reading something on his tablet. Every so often, he would glance at the front door as if expecting someone to come in, but no one did. The rain outside had thinned to a steady drizzle, soft enough that you could forget it was there until you looked out at the wet pavement.I was carrying a box of newly delivered ceramics to the display table when Lena stepped in, shaking the rain from her coat. She greeted Julian and then looked at me with a face that told me whatever she had to say would not be small.“Tell me you have a few minutes,” she said.“

The table had been set since late afternoon. My mother had insisted on arranging the place settings herself, even though I offered to do it. She said it was part of the ritual, that a table felt wrong if she didn’t touch each plate before it was filled.When Julian and I arrived, the house smelled faintly of roast chicken and thyme. My father was in the kitchen, carving meat with the careful precision of someone who believed the slices mattered just as much as the seasoning. My mother moved more slowly than she had before her illness, but she still made her way around the table, straightening a fork here, adjusting a folded napkin there.We were waiting for my younger brother and his family. The chairs were all in their usual places, except for one. It sat at the far end, a little apart from the rest, the seat pushed in neatly under the tablecloth. I noticed it the moment I walked in.It had belonged to my grandmother when she was alive. She used to sit there, always with a small glas

I was looking for my long wool coat, the one I had worn last winter when the winds came early. The boutique was colder these days, and I had promised myself I would be better prepared for the season this time. The coat was somewhere in the bedroom closet, probably wedged between the newer jackets I had not worn as much. I pulled open the door and began moving hangers aside, the soft whisper of fabric filling the quiet.The top shelf caught my eye. There were the usual boxes—some holding extra scarves, one with a pair of shoes I had worn only once—but in the far corner, just beyond the reach of the light, sat a box I did not remember placing there. It was a pale brown cardboard, the kind that came with neither label nor logo, the corners softened by time. I stood on my toes, brushing my fingers over the surface before pulling it down.Julian was in the living room, absorbed in whatever book he had taken from the shelf this week. I carried the box to the bed, my hands careful in a way t

Julian’s hand was still against my back when I woke again. I must have only been asleep for an hour, maybe less. The room was dark except for the thin line of streetlight slipping in through the blinds. I could hear his breathing, steady but not deep enough for sleep.I shifted slightly. “You’re awake,” I said quietly.“I am,” he replied, his voice low. “Have been for a while.”I rolled onto my back to see his face. His eyes were open, watching the ceiling like it might have an answer written on it. “Can’t sleep?”“Not really. Too much in my head.”I waited, giving him space to continue if he wanted to. For a moment, it seemed like he might keep whatever was in his head to himself, the way he had been doing for weeks. But then he exhaled slowly and turned toward me.“I think I’ve been doing this wrong,” he said.“Doing what wrong?”“Balancing it all,” he admitted. “I’ve been so focused on the work, on getting it right for the clients, that I didn’t notice I was letting it take over ev

The evening pressed in gently, not rushing me the way afternoons sometimes did when I worked too long in the boutique. The light outside had softened to that in-between shade, not quite day but not fully night either, the kind of light that makes everything look suspended in a pause. I closed the boutique carefully, sliding the key into the lock and hearing the firm click that told me the racks and fabrics inside were safe for the night. Instead of pulling my phone out to check messages or set the route home, I slipped it into my bag, powered off. I wanted nothing between myself and the city but the sound of my own footsteps.The first stretch of the street was familiar, lined with shops whose owners I greeted most mornings. A baker across the way was just stacking baskets, the last of the day’s loaves arranged neatly even though he knew they would sell quickly. He looked up and nodded at me, flour still dusting his sleeves. I lifted my hand in a small wave, and then kept walking. Wit