Chapter 3

The doorbell suddenly rang, snapping me out of my thoughts. I swiped at my cheeks and shoved the memory book back into its box before peering through the peephole.

Evelyn, of all people, stood on my doorstep. She wasn't wearing that eye-catching red dress from last night, but a simple white T-shirt and jeans instead, carrying a paper bag.

I took a deep breath and opened the door, but left the security chain on. "What do you want?" The steadiness in my own voice surprised me.

Evelyn flashed an apologetic smile. "Winnie, I came to apologize. I had too much to drink last night and crossed lines." She lifted the paper bag in her hand. "I brought you some food. Can we talk?"

Hesitating for a moment, I finally undid the security chain.

Evelyn entered with the ease of someone who'd been there countless times. She set the paper bag on the coffee table and pulled out two pastry boxes and two takeaway coffee cups. Handing me a cup, she said with a smile, "I remember you like caramel macchiato."

I took the coffee but didn't drink it, my guard still up. "How did you know where I live?" I asked.

Evelyn made herself at home on my sofa. "Eugene told me," she said casually. "Actually, he talks about this place all the time. He says you've made it so cozy and it feels way more like home than your new house ever does."

I tightened my grip on the coffee cup, the heat burning through the paper into my palm. "Evelyn, what exactly are you trying to say?"

She sighed, her expression earnest. "Winnie, I'm truly sorry—what happened last night was wrong. But I swear, Eugene and I are just friends. We've known each other since college. It's been ten years. If we'd wanted anything more, it would've happened ages ago."

I searched her eyes for any trace of deceit, but all I found was genuine openness.

"Remember," she added, "I helped him rehearse his confession to you in college. He was so nervous, practicing his lines in front of me a dozen times."

She smiled softly, her gaze drifting into the distance. "That's when I knew he truly loved you."

"Then why..." I asked, my voice cracking.

Evelyn shook her head. "Blame it on the alcohol. And our friends were egging us on. We're so close that sometimes we forget where the line is. But I promise, it won't happen again."

The apology sounded genuine, yet the weight in my chest refused to lift.

"Eugene's really worried about you," Evelyn said abruptly. "He's been calling nonstop, but you wouldn't pick up—he's going out of his mind with worry."

"Why didn't Eugene come himself?" I asked.

Evelyn took a sip of her coffee and said, "There was an emergency at his company—he had to rush to a meeting. He asked me to check on you first, and said he'd be here the second he's free."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. How ironic—my own husband sent his friend to comfort his newlywed wife.

"Actually..." Evelyn hesitated for a moment. "Eugene cherishes you. He always says you're the most patient woman he's ever known—never nagging, never demanding."

She paused and then added with a wry smile, "Unlike me—I'm always dragging him into my disasters."

Each word landed like a needle between my ribs.

To her, I was just the presentable wife, while she held the real intimacy of shared history.

"Eugene and I have known each other for ten years," Evelyn continued, her eyes soft with tenderness. "He's family. Anytime I'm in trouble, he's the one I call. Last month, my pipes burst at three in the morning. He came running before I even hung up."

My grip on the cup trembled slightly.

Last month was the most hectic time in our wedding preparations.

One night during our wedding preparations, Eugene rushed out at midnight, claiming there was some server emergency at work.

Now the realization struck me like a physical blow—he'd gone to Evelyn's place that night.

"Now that he's married, I'll make sure to keep my distance," Evelyn added with a faint smile, as if granting me a favor.

I set down my coffee and stood up. "Evelyn, thanks for the pastries, but I need some time alone now."

Evelyn paused, and then took the hint immediately. "Of course, I understand," she said, rising gracefully. At the door, she turned back. "Don't let small misunderstandings cloud your judgment. Eugene's a good man—you're lucky to have him."

The moment the door shut, I ran to the bathroom and retched, though nothing came up.

It wasn't the food—it was the visceral violation of my space and my marriage that made me feel sick.

Every apology from Evelyn's lips had been a quiet conquest. She and Eugene shared ten years of unspoken history, while I was just the lucky outsider.