Chapter 2

When we first got married, we had an unspoken rule. If one of us went to sleep in the guest room, it meant we weren't in the mood for sex.

Later, Brentley said sleeping in separate rooms wasn't good for our relationship, so we ended up with a set schedule for intimacy.

It was just like the rest of our lives—everything was so predictable: school, graduation, blind dates, marriage.

And then what?

Was it having kids next, or splitting up?

"What's wrong?" Brentley asked, taking my hand, looking a bit anxious.

I thought he still cared about me.

I gave him a faint smile. After years weathering the ups and downs of business, I'd learned how to wear a poker face. "I'm probably just worried about Dad's health. It's no big deal, I'll be alright soon."

Guilt flickered across his expression. "I'm sorry. Will you let me go with you tomorrow?"

I slipped my hand out of his. "Sure. Goodnight."

Moonlight streamed through the window as I lay on my side, staring at the sheer curtains swaying gently in the breeze.

I was losing my dad.

I was losing Brentley.

I was about to lose the two people closest to me at the same time.

Tears slipped down my cheeks in silence.

But now, with Brentley slipping away from me, I couldn't even say for sure if he'd ever really been mine, or if we ever truly belonged to each other.

The next morning, breakfast was ready and waiting on the table.

There was bacon, heart-shaped eggs, toast, and a mug of warm milk—he'd thought of everything.

"Sit down," Brentley said, apron tied around his waist, his eyes crinkling with a genuine smile.

Soft morning sunlight spilled in through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over him.

It was the kind of homey vibe I'd always loved.

There wasn't the burning passion of youthful love, nor the heartbreak and unforgettable pain of dramatic partings—just the cozy warmth of daily routines and gentle, steady companionship.

If a sweet treat is wrapped up in lies, would I still take a bite?

"Thanks," I said.

I took a bite of the egg—perfectly golden, looking so inviting.

But all I could taste was bitterness.

We were both a little on edge.

Stuck in traffic, Brentley tapped his fingers uneasily on the steering wheel before finally speaking. "You don't like the bracelet, do you? It's the jade one you like. I went through so many shops to find it—top-quality, clear and flawless."

I had a thing for bracelets, so most of the gifts he gave me were bracelets.

I gave him a small smile. "I like it. Thanks."

He freed up one hand to hold mine. "Bethany, I don't like it when you're so formal with me."

There was a trace of hurt in his voice. "But you still haven't even opened it."

I used to love how he acted differently with me, like I was someone special, like we shared something no one else did.

But now, every time I was with him, I couldn't help but wonder if his voice got softer for some other woman, too.

When he saw two women wrapped up in his tenderness, did he feel a sense of pride? Or did he just think that was how things were supposed to be?

I didn't say a word, just kept my eyes on the stream of cars rushing by outside.

He looked a bit deflated, turning his attention back to the road.

At the hospital, Dad looked all skin and bones. The man who used to be so full of energy was now almost ghostly pale and so frail that it hurt to look at him.

Just a second before we walked in, he was doubled over with pain, clutching his stomach, a deep frown on his face. The instant he saw us, though, he pasted on a cheerful grin and called out, acting like nothing was wrong at all.

But the furrowed crease between his brows couldn't hide how much he was suffering.

He was just trying not to make me worry.

I forced down the burn in my eyes, sat beside his bed like I always did, and started reading him the news—pretending it was just another ordinary day.

The doctor said he had, at most, two weeks left.

Brentley hung around with me for quite a while, too.

Eventually, Dad started fussing at us. "I'm fine, you two—don't just hang around here. Go on, get to work!"

As I stood up, a memory flashed into my mind—back when I was little and got sick, Dad would carry me on his back all the way to the hospital to get an IV. I remember the moon that night was so bright, with frog voices echoing in the distance.

He'd gently ask if I was feeling any better, and there I'd be, curled on his back, already mostly recovered, but I'd still whisper, "Dad, I'm not better yet." Saying that meant he'd spend more time with me, fussing and doting on me, making me feel like I was the center of his world.

Why was it that when he was sick, he tried so hard to hide his pain?

But when I was a child, I used to exaggerate how miserable I felt whenever I was ill.

Back in high school, I could go to him, all worried, and confess that a boy had sent me a love letter and I had no clue what to do. But now, I can't even sigh and tell him, "Dad, Brentley's seeing another woman—what am I supposed to do?"

I wish I could still share everything with him like I used to.

So instead, I put on a brave face and said, "Dad, guess what—I have some good news. You're going to be a grandpa!"

"Really?!"

Dad and Brentley both burst out at the same moment.

I could hear nothing but pure delight in their voices.

I smiled warmly, my eyes crinkling as I looked at his aged face, giving him a firm, reassuring nod. "Yes, it really is a surprise!"