Chapter 2

Suddenly, I remembered the days when I used to live with the Langleys.

Late at night, I'd slip across the terrace and sneak into Terry's room. His bed, his pillows, and even his collar all carried that smell.

Back then, Terry wasn't the cold, distant man he was now.

He'd ruffle my hair and call me "sweetie", tuck my freezing hands and feet between his calves, hiss at the cold, tease me, and hold me even tighter.

On those nights, his breath was right by my ear, steady, warm, always tinged with that pine scent.

I really thought those days would never end.

I shouldn't even have these memories.

Honestly, if it weren't for the Langley family, I wouldn't be here today. I'd attend college and lead a decent life. It was all thanks to them.

I was a scholarship kid, handpicked by Terry's mother, Anna Langley, from a pile of files on poor students.

Back then, I was thirteen, and I was really skinny.

Anna said I reminded her of her younger self, stubborn and unwilling to lose. She started sending me money and gifts every year, and whenever the holidays rolled around, someone would show up with clothes and books for me.

Then, when I turned fifteen, she took me in and made me part of the Langley family.

Their house was so huge that if someone shouted, people could hear that voice bounce right back at them.

Anna put me in the room next to Terry's. The closet was already packed with dresses she'd bought ahead of time, and on the desk sat a box of pens and brand-new notebooks.

She said, "From now on, this is your home."

I'd bounced around from relative to relative my whole life, so the word "home" never really meant much to me.

But when Anna said it, she crouched down to my level, her hand resting on my shoulder, the warmth of her palm seeping through my thin school uniform.

I believed her.

The Langleys treated me like I was their own.

Terry's father, John Langley, wasn't much of a talker, but every time he came back from a business trip, he'd bring me a gift the same as Terry's. He never played favorites.

Anna raised me like her own daughter. She went to my school for activities, took me to the doctor, and even showed me how to handle my period. My real parents never bothered to teach me.

Living in that house, I finally knew what it felt like to be truly cared for.

Terry was three years older than me.

He was already over six feet tall. But at home, he acted like an overgrown puppy.

He'd sprawl out on the living room couch playing video games, toss his homework aside and stubbornly refuse to do it, and Anna would end up yanking him out of bed by the ear for breakfast.

I don't even know when it started.

Maybe it was one summer evening out on the terrace when he helped blow-dry my hair. His fingers fumbled through the strands, awkward but so careful not to hurt me.

Or maybe it was even earlier, when he taught me to ride a bike. I was screaming my head off on the back, and he was up front, cracking up so hard that he could barely keep us steady.

By the time I realized it, I was already sneaking across the terrace to his room in the middle of the night.

His bed always felt warmer and cozier than mine.

I thought those nights would never end.

It happened one Saturday afternoon when I was 21.

Anna came home early from getting her hair done and walked in on Terry pinning me down on the beanbag chair, kissing me.

She stood in the doorway, holding two cups of coffee.

I'd never forget what I saw. Her expression shifted from shock, to pain, then to something so complicated I couldn't even name it. She didn't say a word. She turned around and left.

Honestly, everything after that was a blur.

The only thing I remember was that John calling Terry into his study, and the door stayed closed forever. I sat on my bed, waiting all afternoon, all the way until it got dark, but he never showed up.

And after that, they sent me overseas.

On the plane, I couldn't help thinking maybe in their story, I was the troublemaker.

And really, wasn't it normal for the troublemaker to get kicked out in the end?