Chapter 4
Series 1 Chapter 4
My father's hand froze beside the glass.
My mother immediately looked at him.
It was not an ordinary glance.
It was a warning.
He had said too much.
"What does that mean?"
No one answered.
I asked again.
"What do you mean, always?"
My mother finally sat down.
"Natalie, this was a long time ago."
That sentence was already an answer.
"What happened?"
My father spoke first.
"Ethan knew Chloe when he was younger."
"When?"
"Before you two were married."
"How long before?"
My mother answered.
"About fifteen years ago."
My fingers tightened against the blanket.
Fifteen years.
Before I had ever met Ethan.
Chloe had just finished college.
Ethan's company was barely getting started.
"They were close," my father said.
"How close?"
No one answered.
I looked at my mother.
"He pursued her?"
She looked away.
That was enough.
But I still asked.
"Seriously?"
My father did not avoid it this time.
"Yes."
The room went quiet.
I remembered the first time my mother mentioned Ethan.
She had said, "There's a young man I think you'd like."
Later, Ethan and I crossed paths at a charity event.
He approached me.
We had coffee.
A week later, he asked me to dinner.
I had remembered that dinner for years because it was one of the first times I felt someone had deliberately chosen to walk toward me.
"Why didn't Chloe date him?"
My mother frowned.
"Everyone was young then."
My father was more direct.
"Ethan didn't have much back then."
I understood.
His company had no clear future.
Chloe wanted something safer.
More certain.
Then she met Michael.
Michael came from money.
They became engaged quickly.
Around the same time, Ethan's career finally began to take off.
I knew what happened after that.
The company succeeded.
The house.
The reputation.
The money.
Everything Chloe had once doubted he would ever have, he eventually got.
By then, Chloe was engaged.
Then I met him.
I looked at my mother.
"Did you arrange for us to meet?"
"Natalie, we just thought the two of you were a good match."
"So yes."
"What does it matter? You were happy."
I did not answer.
That was not the part that made me cold.
"Did Ethan know?"
My mother went still.
I asked again.
"When I first met him, did he know you were trying to bring us together?"
A voice came from the doorway.
"Yes."
I looked up.
Ethan stood there.
I did not know how long he had been listening.
He walked into the room.
He did not look panicked.
He did not look particularly guilty either.
Mostly, he looked tired, as if everyone had dragged an old story into the present for no reason.
"You knew?"
"Yes."
"Did Chloe?"
He did not answer immediately.
My mother did it for him.
"Of course she knew."
Of course.
My parents knew.
Chloe knew.
Ethan knew.
I was the only one who did not.
I had spent twelve years believing I knew how my love story began.
Apparently, there had been another page before mine.
Everyone else had read it.
No one thought I needed to.
I looked at Ethan.
"You really pursued her?"
"Yes."
"And then?"
"She chose someone else."
His voice was calm.
"It ended."
I stopped asking.
I did not ask how long it took him to get over her.
I did not ask whether he was still thinking about her when he first started seeing me.
I did not ask whether there would ever have been an us if Chloe had said yes.
I suddenly did not want any more answers from them.
Two days later, I was discharged.
Ethan drove me home.
He talked most of the way.
I barely listened.
He said fifteen years ago had nothing to do with now.
He said we had been married twelve years.
He said Chloe was only my sister now.
He said no one had deliberately lied to me.
They simply had not thought an old, finished story was worth mentioning.
When we got home, I slowly climbed the stairs.
My knee still could not take my full weight.
Ethan stayed downstairs on a call.
I opened the closet.
I pulled out a small suitcase.
I did not pack much.
A few clothes.
Medication.
My laptop.
Passport.
Insurance papers.
Important documents.
I had just closed the zipper when Ethan came upstairs.
He leaned against the doorway and watched me for a few seconds.
"You're still recovering."
I used the bed to steady myself as I stood.
His frown deepened.
"That was years ago."
I picked up my coat.
He looked at me.
There was irritation in his voice now, as if the last few days had finally exhausted his patience.
"I married you."
I said nothing.
I took off my wedding ring.
Placed it on the nightstand.
Then I picked up my suitcase and walked past him.