Chapter 3
Evelyn called a cab home, but not to Lane Manor. She went back to the small apartment she had kept from before the marriage. No one had lived there in a long time, and a thin layer of dust covered everything.
She cracked the windows open and let the fresh air pour in.
Then she started cleaning.
She wiped down the tables, mopped the floors, and changed the sheets. Her hands moved fast, like she was racing against something she couldn't name.
Sweat soaked through her clothes, and her stomach twisted in sharp, rolling waves of pain, but she didn't stop.
When she was finished, she took a shower. The hot water ran over her skin until it flushed pink. She caught her reflection in the mirror.
She was thin, painfully thin. Her ribs showed through her skin, and her collarbones cut deep hollows above her chest. But her eyes were bright, startlingly bright.
She dried her hair, sat down at her desk, and pulled out a sheet of paper.
She began writing a list.
[1. Divorce Richard.]
[2. Make sure Grandma is taken care of for the rest of her life.]
[3. Finish the painting.]
[4. Go to the ocean, at least once.]
[5. Leave with no regrets.]
Her pen stopped on the last line.
No regrets. How could she possibly leave with no regrets?
She had loved Richard for three years and spent every one of those years as a stand-in, a placeholder for someone else. She had never once been brave enough to tell him she loved him.
And now that she was dying, she still had to play her part, to pretend she had fallen out of love so he could be with his first love and never feel guilty about it.
That, in itself, was the biggest regret of all.
But she had no choice. Richard didn't love her. He never had. She was nothing more than Claire's shadow, and now that the real one had returned, the shadow needed to disappear. Quietly, gracefully, without making a scene.
The sky outside was darkening as the sunset painted everything in shades of orange and red. Evelyn stood by the window, watching the light fade. The ache in her stomach had become background noise by now, and she had learned to live with it.
Her phone buzzed with an unknown number.
She picked up.
"Evelyn." Richard's voice came through tight with barely contained anger. "You blocked me?"
"Yeah." Her tone was calm.
"Why?"
"Richard." It was the first time she had ever called him by his full name. "Let's end this."
Richard went silent.
The silence stretched on, filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing. Evelyn gripped the phone tighter, her nails digging into her palm.
"What did you just say?" His voice had gone cold.
"I said we're done." She kept her voice steady. "The contract is terminated early. I don't want the money. I'll move out today, and I'll send you the divorce papers."
"Evelyn, do you even hear yourself right now?"
"I do." She gazed at the sunset beyond the window, her voice barely above a whisper. "Richard, I'm done being her stand-in."
"This is because Claire's back?" A mocking edge crept into his tone. "Evelyn, you're even more childish than I thought."
Childish. Maybe so. But she only had three months left, so what was wrong with being childish just this once?
"Think whatever you want," she said. "Goodbye, Richard."
She hung up and powered off her phone.
She tossed it onto the couch and walked over to her desk. She dug through the bottom of her suitcase and pulled out a sketchbook, then flipped it open.
Every page was filled with sketches of Richard. Richard eating. Richard working. Richard asleep. Richard frowning. One sketch a day for three years. One thousand and ninety-five drawings.
She turned through them one by one, her fingertips tracing the pencil lines, until she reached a blank page.
She picked up a pencil and began drawing from memory. Richard's brow, the shape of his jaw, the way his eyes held that distant, unreachable look whenever he gazed at someone.
The longer she drew, the harder it became to hold herself together. Tears slipped down her cheeks and landed on the paper, smudging the pencil lines into soft gray blooms.
She wiped her eyes and kept going. The pain in her stomach gnawed at her constantly, but she didn't care anymore.
Let it hurt. At least pain meant she was still alive.
Not that she'd be alive much longer.