Chapter 2
It was too cold.
The furniture I had carefully picked out for my wedding was now considered cold to William.
I went upstairs.
When I pushed open the master bedroom door, I froze in the doorway.
The bed was different.
The curtains were new.
Even the color of the walls had changed, from the misty gray I'd picked to a warm pink.
There was a row of stuffed animals on the headboard, the biggest one a pink rabbit, matching the one on the doorknob.
The items on the dressing table were even more absurd. They were all brands I had never used. Light pink blush, milk-colored lipstick, peach-scented body lotion.
I opened the closet.
It was full of floral dresses, lace tops, and knit cardigans, all in light colors.
I wondered where my black dress was.
I also wondered where my blazer was.
The camel trench coat that I'd worn for five years was also gone.
"Whose clothes are these?" I asked.
William stood in the doorway, not coming in.
"After you fell into a coma, I had someone replace everything," he said.
"For whom?" I pressed.
He didn't answer.
I dug through the box at the bottom of the closet and found a black dress, probably the only one that had survived the purge.
After changing into it, I stood there, staring at my reflection in the mirror for a while.
I'd lost a lot of weight. My cheeks were sunken, my collarbones jutting out, but my mind was still sharp.
I found my bright red lipstick, buried deep in the back of the dressing table drawer, hidden under a heap of milk-colored lipsticks.
I twisted it open and applied a layer to my lips in front of the mirror.
"You just got out of the hospital, and the way you're dressed..." William started, but trailed off behind me.
"What's wrong with how I'm dressed?" I asked.
"It's too flashy," he said.
I turned to look at him.
"These are my clothes, my lipstick. I'm wearing my own stuff in my own house. Who exactly am I bothering?" I shot back.
He didn't respond.
As I went downstairs, Amelia Fairchild, the housekeeper, came out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of sweet soup.
When she saw me, she slowed down for a moment.
"And you are?" Amelia asked.
She glanced at William.
William murmured something, and Amelia's expression shifted. She forced a smile.
"Oh, the patient is finally out of the hospital. Sit down," she said.
Just a patient.
Not Mrs. Bennett. Not Miss.
Only a patient.
I didn't sit down. I just stared at the bowl of sweet soup.
"I don't like sweets," I said.
"What?" Amelia blinked, surprised. "Mrs. Bennett always..."
She cut herself off.
William cleared his throat.
"She just got out of the hospital. Maybe her tastes have changed. Just make something light," he said.
Amelia nodded and took the bowl back to the kitchen.
I heard her quietly making a phone call in the kitchen.
"She's awake now. Mr. Bennett wants something light. Yeah, she doesn't like the same things as Mrs. Bennett..."
Two names referred to two people.
And I was just the "she."
That night, I didn't sleep in the master bedroom.
It was not like I didn't want to.
William had me stay in the guest room at the end of the second floor.
"You're still not fully recovered. The master bedroom faces north and gets cold at night. The guest room faces south and is warmer," he said.
He said it as if it made perfect sense.
I walked into the guest room.
It was about 50 square feet, with a queen-sized bed and a simple wardrobe.
The curtains were the same light blue hospital-style ones, and on the nightstand was a white noise machine and a few bottles of medicine.
It felt like a high-end hospital room.
"When can I go back to the master bedroom?" I asked.
"When you're fully recovered," William replied.
"And what does 'fully recovered' even mean?" I pressed.
"The doctor gets to decide," he said.
With that, he walked away.
His footsteps echoed down the hallway as he turned the corner and went into the master bedroom.
The door closed softly, but even though it was quiet, I heard every sound.
I heard the lock click from inside the master bedroom.
He locked the door behind him.
I spent the whole night sitting alone in the guest room, wide awake and unable to sleep.
The next morning, I went downstairs and saw breakfast already set out in the dining room.
There were two plates.
One was at the head of the table, sweet soy milk, a cake roll, and a cup of strawberry yogurt, all arranged so perfectly it looked like it belonged in a food magazine.
The other was off to the side, just plain oatmeal and some pickles.
When Amelia saw me coming down the stairs, she quickly gestured toward the seat off to the side.
"Yours is over here," she said.
I glanced at the breakfast set out at the head of the table.
"Who's that for?" I asked.
"Mr. Bennett always asks me to prepare two breakfasts every morning. Mrs. Bennett always eats at the head of the table," Amelia replied.
"Who's Mrs. Bennett?" I asked.
Amelia looked a bit uneasy.
"Well, Mrs. Bennett is the one who's always lived here," she said.
"So who am I then?" I pressed.
She opened her mouth, but couldn't get a word out.
Just then, William came down the stairs.