Chapter 4
"Oh," I said. "Then how can she be okay in the hospital all by herself if you're here?"
His face shifted slightly. "There's a nurse."
"Is a nurse the same as you?" I cut him off. "Doesn't she need you the most?"
My mom tugged at my arm. "Stella! Watch your tone!"
Brian held up a hand to stop her. "It's fine, Mrs. Thompson."
He looked at me, his eyes darkening a little. "Stella, I know you're mad.
"But there's honestly nothing going on between Emily and me.
"I just felt bad for her and wanted to help.
"Trust me."
Trust him?
I'd trusted him for seven years.
Trusted him when he said, "Emily is just like a sister."
Trusted him when he said, "I'll spend time with you as soon as work slows down."
Trusted him when he said, "I'll only ever love you."
And what was the result?
The result was a hidden folder on his phone with every picture of Emily Summers from high school to the present.
The result was his absolute insistence on leaving a blank space on the gallery wall in our new home office.
He claimed it was for our travel photos.
Later, I realized the dimensions he had carefully measured were an exact fit for Emily's framed college graduation portrait.
It was made to fit, down to the last inch.
"Brian." I slowly exhaled. "Let's stop pretending.
"You're tired, and so am I."
His smile faded a little. "Pretending? You think I'm putting on an act?"
"What else?" I looked at him. "You're standing here right now, saying you've got Emily settled, saying the engagement is still on.
"It's because you realized I would actually leave.
"Because your buddies are all laughing at you behind your back.
"It's because your mom called and yelled at you, asking if you were out of your mind to throw away such a perfect, obedient wife.
"You don't actually feel bad for hurting me.
"You're just trying to protect your ego.
"Afraid you won't be able to clean up the mess.
"Afraid people will say Brian Harper got dumped by his pathetic little pushover."
His expression turned grim. "Stella, do you have to be so vicious?"
"Vicious?" I asked. "Is it any more vicious than what you said at the bar?"
He had nothing to say.
My mom started stomping her foot, totally exasperated. "Stella! Brian has already swallowed his pride, what more do you want?
"Apologize to him right now and let this go.
You are getting engaged tomorrow, like a good girl. Do you hear me?"
"Did you hear me?" she added.
I ignored her, keeping my eyes fixed on Brian.
"Brian," I said softly. "I'll give you one last chance to tell me the truth." I took a breath. "Who do you choose?"
His eyes flickered away for a fraction of a second. "Stella, there's no need to choose," he started.
"Choose," I cut him off. "Me, or Emily. Pick one."
A terrifying silence fell over the living room.
My dad sat on the sofa, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were stark white, while my mom continued to glare at me.
Brian's Adam's apple bobbed.
He looked at me, his eyes swirling with conflict, irritation, and the sheer frustration of being backed into a corner.
"Stella," he said, his voice softening, trying to calm me down. "Don't do this.
"Emily's really just a friend, nothing more."
"You're the only one I care about.
After all these years, can't you feel that?"
Can't I feel that?
I felt it when he held me, his fingertips mindlessly rubbing the small mole on my collarbone.
Later, I discovered that Emily Summers had a beauty mark in that exact same spot.
I felt it when he got drunk and insisted on reciting a specific poem.
His delivery was clumsy but full of longing.
Later, I found the original copy of that poem tucked into his old college textbook.
The sign-off read: [Emily, Spring 2009.]
He always bought a specific brand of orange-flavored hard candy, claiming the sugar rush kept him awake.
Later, I learned that Emily had hypoglycemia and swore by that exact brand.
It was so obvious.
So obvious that I had simply played blind for seven years.
"Brian," I said calmly. "Your phone's lock screen is a picture of Emily's high school graduation, isn't it?"
His eyes snapped wide open.
He instinctively reached for his pocket.
"Every time you type in your passcode, you purposefully turn the screen away," I continued. "You do it because the code is her birthday.
"In the bottom drawer of your desk, there's a tin box full of postcards she sent from another country over the years.
You haven't thrown a single one away. Do you need me to keep going?"
His face went pale.
His lips parted, but no sound came out.
My mom let out a sharp gasp. "Brian, is what she's saying true?"
Brian didn't answer.
Instead, his gaze slowly turned ice-cold. The facade of gentleness and remorse was finally stripped away.
"Stella," he said, his voice icy. "Have you been spying on me?"
"Did I even need to?" I shot back. "You weren't exactly subtle.
"You never really intended to hide it at all. You just assumed I would never find out, and even if I did, I wouldn't dare say a word."
He stayed silent for a few seconds before letting out a dry laugh.
"Right," he scoffed. "I can't forget Emily. So what?
"Stella, have I treated you poorly these past seven years? Have I ever denied you anything you wanted?
The house is in your name, I bought your car, and you spend my money however you please.
"Have I ever been with anyone else?
"Emily was out of the country for seven years. How many times did I even see her?
"So what if I save a tiny corner of my heart for her? How does that actually hurt you?
"Do you really have to force me to choose between you two? Can't you just be reasonable?"
Reasonable. There was that word again.
I nodded slowly. "I understand now," I said. "Brian, we're done."
I turned and headed straight for my room, not hesitating for a second.
"Stella!" he yelled after me. "If you walk out that door today, don't you dare come crawling back!"
I didn't look back.
"You're the one who's going to regret this," I said, pulling open my bedroom door. "But then again, you probably won't.
"After all, your precious Emily is back in town. It's time for the pathetic understudy to exit stage left."
I shut the door behind me.
Leaning back against the heavy wood, I listened to my mother's wailing, Brian's muffled, furious shouting, and my father's heavy sigh.
I slowly slid down to the floor.
I pulled out my phone.
The screen lit up, illuminating the unread interview notice.
[Time: Tomorrow, 9:00 AM
[Location: National Space Agency]
*****
The door to Conference Room 3 at the National Space Agency was thick and entirely soundproof.
The moment I pushed it open, the panel of interviewers sitting around the long table looked up in unison.
They were dressed in identical dark suits with ID badges pinned to their lapels, their expressions dead serious.
"Ms. Stella Thompson?" asked the middle-aged man sitting in the center, his voice steady.
"Yes, that's me," I replied.
"Please, take a seat." He gestured to the chair opposite them.
I sat down.
A printed form and a pen rested on the table in front of me.
"First of all, thank you for your interest in the Mars Colonization Volunteer Project," the man said, flipping open a manila folder. "I am Charles Kent, the chief examiner for this final interview.
"Before we officially begin, I need to confirm a few critical points with you."
He looked up at me.
"First, this project is a one-way mission with absolutely no possibility of returning to Earth," he stated. "Do you fully understand and voluntarily accept this risk?"
"Yes, I do," I answered evenly.
"Second, the mission timeline requires permanent residency. You will be completely severed from your current social circles, your family, and human civilization as we know it on Earth.
"Are you mentally prepared for this?"
"Yes."