Chapter 2
He really does mean what he says. He texted me saying if I got home late, there’d be no dinner left. Sure enough, by the time I walked through the door, the dining table was a disaster zone, with nothing to eat in sight. Hanna sat nearby, giving me a look of feigned pity.
"I'm so sorry, Emmeline," she said, her voice laced with insincerity. "I just couldn't wait; I was too hungry."
Even someone as oblivious as I am could catch her taunt. My blood boiled, and my fists clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. Hanna and Max had known each other since they were kids, and she always seemed to come first for him.
Initially, things between Max and me were great—smooth and loving, with few disagreements. Whenever we did have disputes, he was quick to apologize and take the blame, whether he was wrong or not. My friends used to envy how devoted he was to me. But that admiration ended around six months ago. Since Hanna re-entered the scene, his attention shifted.
“Emmeline, why are you so late? Didn't I remind you earlier?” Max asked, emerging from the kitchen with a frown.
It was as if he expected me to drop everything the moment he texted. “I got held up.”
“What could possibly be more important than dinner?” His tone was casual but hinted at annoyance.
Discussing marriage was off the table for me. Since I planned to leave, Max felt more like a stranger now. My return today was mainly to collect my things. “Just work stuff; I have a business trip, so I’m here to pack.”
I didn’t wait for his reply and headed straight to the bedroom. But as soon as I opened the door, I stopped dead. The room was in disarray; the bed I had neatly made was a mess, and clothes were scattered everywhere. I could overlook that. But the handcrafted model skyscraper my grandfather, Leif, had gifted me lay shattered beside the bed, pieces sparkling across the floor.
I couldn’t hold back any longer and called out to Max. “Who’s been in this room? Who messed up my things?”
Max entered, his expression shifting from a frown to a dismissive look. “It’s just a model. I’ll get someone to fix it,” he said, nonchalantly.
I froze. His indifferent tone underscored how little I mattered to him. And I knew, without a doubt, Hanna must have broken it. She was the only one Max would defend so fiercely.
“So it was Hanna, wasn’t it?” My voice was steady, though it pushed Max over the edge.
He quickly got defensive. “Do you have any proof Hanna did it? Maybe it just fell!”
“Don’t go around making accusations without evidence, Emmeline. I could sue you for defamation!”
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, tasting blood. He’d defend her no matter what. With just a word, he painted me as a liar. The Max I knew six months ago wouldn’t have acted this way.
I still remember the night I truly fell for him—a stormy evening when I had a car accident. He rushed to the scene, drenched from the rain, losing all his usual calm. He yelled and confronted the driver who hit me. But now? How could he have changed so much?