Chapter 3
Ethan turned as pale as a ghost.
He let go of me and stumbled backward, his lips trembling slightly. At that moment, he was no longer the gentle, thoughtful man I'd known—he looked like a thief caught in the act, desperate and terrified, with nowhere left to run or hide.
"Claire," he stammered, his voice shaking uncontrollably, " just let me explain—"
"Explain what?"
I was surprised by how calm I sounded, so steady it was as if I were merely asking about what we were having for dinner that night.
"Are you going to explain why you made me get that mole tattooed? Or how I got exposed to peanuts?"
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
I stood up, walked past him, and sat on the edge of the bed. I glanced down at the mole on my inner thigh—faint and still beneath the dim wedding lights, like a secret I'd never known was there.
I had never once doubted it.
Early in our relationship, he'd kissed me there and suddenly frozen, staring at the mole for a long, strange moment. I'd thought he found it attractive, and shyly pushed him away.
He'd said it was beautiful, but his tone hadn't felt like praise—it had felt more like confirmation.
Now everything finally made sense.
He wasn't admiring the mole on my body. He was checking whether it matched the one on the woman he really loved.
"Ethan," I looked up at him and asked, " who is Emily Sparks?"
He looked utterly defeated, standing there with his shoulders slumped. The silence stretched on so long I thought he would never answer, until finally, he spoke in a ragged whisper. " She was a friend from college."
"The girl you love," I stated.
That wasn't a question.
He didn't deny it.
He didn't even try. He simply crouched down slowly, burying his face in his hands, looking utterly lost and broken. I watched his shoulders shake, and heard his ragged, pained breathing.
It was the first time I had ever seen Ethan cry.
For two years, he'd always been gentle, calm, and dependable. I remembered one night when I ran a high fever—he drove straight forty minutes to the hospital, holding my hand the whole time, telling me not to be scared, that he was right there.
His voice had felt steady and unwavering, like a safe harbor, making me believe I would be protected even if the whole world came crashing down.
But now, that harbor had crumbled completely.
All because of another woman.
"Did she reject you?" I asked.
"She got married," he lifted his head, his eyes bloodshot. " She married a foreign guy and moved to Brighton. Before she left, she told me I was nothing more than a friend to her. That was all."
As he spoke, his lips twisted as if forcing a smile, but the expression looked far more miserable than crying outright.
"So you settled for someone who looked just like her," I said.
"It wasn't like that at first," Ethan said urgently. "Claire, please believe me. When I first met you, I truly didn't notice the resemblance. I only realized it later—"
"And once you realized I looked like her, you started reshaping me into her?" I pressed.
He fell completely silent.
"That mole." I gestured toward my thigh. " You had me get it because she has one in the exact same spot, right?"
Still silence.
"So because she can't eat mangoes, you made sure I couldn't either?"
More silence.
"Did you change every other part of me too?" I let out a bitter, humorless scoff. " The dresses I wear, the perfume I use, the way I cut my hair—were you just turning me into her copy?"
"Not the perfume," he replied quickly, almost reflexively. " Yours is different from hers—"
He fell silent mid-sentence.
He knew full well how ridiculous that excuse sounded.
I laughed.
A bitter, hollow laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
"Thanks, Ethan. At least you let me keep my own scent," I said, every word dripping with sarcasm.
It felt like I'd slapped him across the face. His face crumpled, and he dropped to his knees with a heavy thud against the cold marble floor.
"Claire, I'm so sorry," Ethan's voice cracked. " I know I'm a terrible person. I never should have... I never should have lied to you. But somewhere along the way, I really did fall in love with you. I swear it."
"So what is it about me that you actually like?" I asked, staring him down coldly.
He froze.
"What part of me do you love?" I pressed again. " Can you even tell which parts are truly mine, and which ones are just pieces of her?"
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.