Chapter 1
Early-stage stomach cancer.
Chloe Keller stared at those words for what felt like forever. People were constantly passing by in the hallway. A nurse wheeled a bald old man past her. He gave her a smile, revealing a few remaining teeth.
Chloe folded up the test report and tucked it into the deepest pocket of her bag.
Today was a special day. Noah Hopkins's old flame had returned to the country. He left early in the morning, and for the first time in ages, he actually glanced at Chloe before heading out, saying, "Don't wait for me for dinner tonight."
After seven years, it was the first time those words had come out of his mouth.
When Chloe got home, the living room lights were on.
She pushed the door open and saw Noah standing in the entryway, bent over to help a woman slip into her slippers. The woman wore a white dress, her long hair draped over her shoulders, and her profile was so gentle that it looked like a painting.
Chloe recognized that face.
She'd seen it in Noah's wallet, on his phone's lock screen, and heard it in his drunken ramblings more times than she could count.
Rachel Andrews.
The woman everyone thought was dead for seven years.
Rachel looked up, hesitated for a second when she saw Chloe, then gave her a polite smile. "Hi, I'm Rachel Andrews, Noah's... friend."
'Friend?' Chloe thought to herself.
Chloe looked at Noah. He glanced at her, his eyes cold.
"You're back?" he said. "Great. Tomorrow, let's go to the city hall and finalize the divorce."
*****
Rachel's smile froze for a moment. She turned to Noah. "Noah, you..."
"This doesn't concern you," Noah interrupted her, his voice gentler. "Go sit in the living room. I'll be right there."
Chloe stood there, still gripping the doorknob.
A familiar scent wafted from the living room. It was lilies. She hated lilies; their pollen always made her sneeze. But Noah kept them around because Rachel liked them.
For seven years, there were always lilies in the vase at home, and Chloe popped allergy pills every month.
Chloe heard herself reply, "Okay."
Her voice was so steady, it was as if she were just talking about the weather.
Noah shot her a quick look. Surprise flickered in his eyes, but it vanished, replaced by cold indifference.
He turned and walked into the living room, bent down to grab the hair dryer from the coffee table, then stood behind Rachel and gently began to dry her hair.
Rachel's hair was long, smooth, and jet-black, just like the photo he kept in his wallet.
Chloe watched their backs, saw Noah's slender fingers run through Rachel's hair, his movements so tender, as if he were handling the most delicate porcelain.
She remembered once when she had a fever of 102.2°F, shivering in bed, and called Noah. The phone rang forever before he finally picked up, loud music blaring in the background.
He said he was out at a party and told her to just take some meds herself. She took the meds, curled up under the covers, shivering all night, unable to sleep.
The next morning, he came home, saw her pale face, and frowned. "You look awful. No makeup? Seriously, what are you doing?"
After that, she started getting up half an hour early every morning, sitting in front of the mirror, making sure not a hint of sickness showed on her face.
Chloe set her bag on the shoe cabinet and walked into the bedroom.
Her closet was filled with mostly white and pastel dresses, all simple and gentle in style. She used to love wearing red. Those bold, fiery colors that made her stand out. But Noah said Rachel liked white, and girls in white looked clean and innocent.
So she stuffed all her red clothes deep in a box, hidden away.
Chloe pulled an old suitcase from the back of her closet, opened it up, and started packing.
She tossed in some clothes, her skincare stuff, a few books, and a thermos she'd had for years.
She'd bought that thermos from a street vendor for thirty dollars, and it had been with her for five years. There was a dent on the side.
She'd gotten it one night after working overtime, so tired she could barely walk straight, and accidentally bumped into a lamppost.
Noah had never even touched that thermos. He didn't even know she had it.
All he knew was that she made him coffee every day, using his fancy, thousand-dollar cup, the water always at the perfect temperature, and the coffee was always his favorite.
The suitcase was packed in no time.
Chloe stood by the bed, taking in the room she'd called home for seven years.
On the nightstand was a framed photo from their wedding. Chloe was beaming in her white dress, while Noah stood next to her, lips barely curved in a smile, his gaze fixed somewhere far away.