Chapter 2

The first time I saw Daniel, he was in the music room, playing "Kikujiro's Summer."

The gentle notes felt like cracking open a cold Coke on a sweltering July day.

That fizzy sound, mixed with a rush of pure hope, sent my adrenaline soaring.

I really believed I'd love Daniel forever.

But after the first time Daniel left me stranded on the highway to pick up Natalie, I stopped hanging on his every move, stopped letting myself unravel over what he did.

Half-awake, I sensed someone quietly push open my bedroom door.

They lingered at the threshold for a long time, but I just rolled over and fell right back into a deep sleep.

The next morning, my alarm pulled me from sleep.

After washing up and getting ready for work, I noticed a figure out on the balcony.

Daniel was still wearing last night's shirt, now wrinkled and disheveled.

The ashtray beside him was overflowing with cigarette butts.

He must have been up all night.

In the morning haze, Daniel's silhouette looked shrouded, making him seem almost forlorn.

I paused, meeting his gaze.

But I didn't say a word.

Daniel's lips parted, and for the first time, he was the one to speak first. "We didn't go to a hotel. When I brought Natalie back last night, I changed the passcode to your birthday, but you were already asleep, so..."

I just stood there, unmoved.

There was no surge of joy or the old reflex to rush over, throw my arms around him, and maintain the performance of the doting girlfriend.

His clumsy attempt to clear the air about Natalie felt almost comical.

As Daniel watched me, stunned, I gave a quick "Got it," a brief nod, and turned toward the kitchen.

I whipped up two plates of pasta and brought them out.

Daniel, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly softened, looking as if he'd finally exhaled a long-held breath.

He was mid-settle when he caught me emptying one of the bowls into Buddy's dish, giving the dog's head a brief, absent rub. "There you go, Buddy," I murmured.

I really didn't feel like talking to him, but Daniel's face went a little pale. He forced a smile, his voice almost pleading, "Sophie, I haven't had breakfast either."

I looked up, genuinely surprised. "Oh? Sorry, I just assumed you and Natalie had already eaten."

Daniel was always so consumed by work that meals became an afterthought, leaving his health in a constant state of neglect.

When we first moved in together, I'd wake up an hour early every single morning to prepare breakfast from scratch, obsessing over every detail just to ensure he had a decent foundation for the day.

But Daniel never really cared. He'd always say, "The housekeeper can handle this. Why waste your time?"

Later, after Natalie and Lucas broke up, she moved in without so much as a heads-up.

She'd toss the breakfast I made for Daniel straight into the trash, complaining.

"Who even eats this sludge? It's all artisanal greens and cold-pressed juices now," Natalie sneered. "Daniel, I want a shrimp and soft-scramble brioche right this second. I'm not touching this provincial garbage."

I figured Daniel would just shut her down.

After all, in all our years together, he never wanted to waste a second on anything outside of work.

Even when I asked him to slice an apple for me, he'd treat it like a massive imposition. I'd have to practically trail after him and plead for ages before he'd finally cave and clear a few grudging slices.

But as soon as Natalie finished talking, I saw him roll up his sleeves.

Daniel, who was always so stoic and guarded, didn't even acknowledge his severe seafood allergy—he just started shelling the shrimp for Natalie with a practiced, clinical focus.

My heart twisted with a sharp pain.

In that moment, it hit me just how much caring for Natalie had been hardwired into Daniel as a primal muscle memory. It was as instinctive as a steady breath; he didn't even have to process the intent.

But I still wasn't used to the role of the poised, gracious anchor he'd always pressured me to be.