Chapter 3

The fabric was still warm and smelled of cedar laundry detergent. I spread the shirt on the back of the living room couch and smoothed the collar with my palms.

Ethan stood at the kitchen island, a pen in his mouth, checking our printed seating plan.

"It would be better if we leave before seven o'clock tomorrow," he said. "The south bypass is under construction, and I don't want to rush all the way to the gate. The security check in Maui may be fine, but why risk it?"

He made coffee and walked into my office carrying a cup with a small square of dark chocolate next to it.

He washed the breakfast dishes and scrubbed the frying pan clean.

But these thoughtful gestures only made me more confused. If what happened last night was just "Grace is too sensitive" to him, why is he treating me so well today as if nothing happened?

I remembered that when we first got married, he would do this every time we had a quarrel - he would deal with it coldly first, and then show kindness through actions, as if as long as he did enough, the problem would disappear automatically.

But the problem never went away. They just get pushed under the carpet, building up thicker and thicker.

By dinner time, that silence had followed us into every room.

At nine o'clock, Ethan went upstairs with his overnight bag and found me sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Are you going to tell me what happened tonight?" he asked.

"I told you," I said, "I said cilantro makes me sick."

He sighed.

"Grace, you know that's not what I mean."

I was silent for a while. I wanted to ask him why he said I was just "picky" in front of Elena, why he had to excuse her even though he knew I was uncomfortable, and how many times he had been like this in the past four years - between his friends and I, I was always the one asked to give in.

But when the words came to my mouth, I just said: "You heard me, but you still told Elena that I am just a picky eater."

"She didn't mean it," he said. "I just didn't want to make a meal at her house uncomfortable for everyone."

"That's not the point."

Ethan placed the bag next to the dresser.

"What the hell is that?"

I looked at him.

"In that house, whenever I was wronged, you never spoke up for me."

His expression tensed.

"Here we go again. Elena makes a mistake and you feel like all my friends are targeting you."

"I didn't say that."

"You don't have to say it," his voice rose. "You sat there looking miserable until I had to choose a side. They've been my family since I was sixteen, Grace. You know that."

"And I am your wife."

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

I saw Ethan's jawline tighten. It was like this every time he wanted to say something but choked it back. I first saw this look four years ago, at his parents' funeral. At that time, he told me that Elena's family was his "remaining family."

I felt heartbroken and felt that this man needed me to fill that hole with double my love.

Now I realize that that hole has never been filled. And I may have been placed in a secondary position from the beginning.

Ethan looked away first.

"I didn't mean that." He finally said, his voice lowered, "I just... I don't want every time I'm with them to end up in a quarrel between the two of us."

"But every time you let me endure it first."

He looked at me as if he wanted to refute, but in the end he didn't speak immediately. That belated hesitation made me almost think that he was finally going to say sorry.

At this time, his cell phone rang.

On the screen was Chloe's name.

Ethan answered the phone, lowering his voice at first. But within two seconds, his expression became tense.

"The car still can't start?" he asked, "Have you tried taking electricity?"

On the other end of the phone, Chloe explained that Elena's car was parked in front of her house and couldn't start. Marcus was temporarily called back from the hospital to deal with the emergency, and Elena had to drive to work tomorrow morning; Chloe helped look after him for a long time, but could only make emergency calls.

"I'll take the tools and take a look." Ethan said.

He hung up the phone and finally looked at me.

"Grace, I have to take a look."

I looked at him and said nothing.

He seemed to realize what he had just said, and a trace of discomfort flashed across his expression.

"She needs the car tomorrow morning. We'll talk when I get back."

"She's not your wife," I said.

Ethan's lips moved.

"I know." He said, "But I can't ignore these things in her family."

When he said this, his eyes had already passed me and fell towards the door.

I suddenly understood that it wasn't that he didn't know that he should stay; he just always felt that I would wait for him here.

He lowered his head and grabbed the car keys, as if he was afraid that the car and the person on the other end of the phone would wait too long.

"Okay." I said, my voice was so calm that even I felt strange, "Go ahead."

He paused, as if he wanted to say something. But the phone vibrated again.

He glanced at the screen, turned around and went downstairs.

Not long after, the front door closed softly downstairs.

I sat by the bed for a long time.

The phone screen lights up and goes dark, it's a confirmation email from the car rental company. I was still hesitating whether to cancel in the afternoon, but finally clicked confirm.

I was still thinking that maybe I would change my mind tomorrow morning. Maybe I’ll stuff my bags back in the closet, pretend nothing happened, go to Maui with Ethan, take photos on the beach, and drink cocktails at sunset, like a normal couple.

I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the sound downstairs to completely quiet down.

After a while, I took off my wedding ring and put it at the bottom of the jewelry box.