Chapter 1

Edward Grant never sent me flowers.

But every June, he'd personally order a bouquet of gardenias and place them in front of the photo in his study, the one I was forbidden to touch.

It took two years of marriage for me to realize he married me because my profile just looked like hers in that photo.

One night, eight weeks into my pregnancy, I carefully handed him the ultrasound report.

He took it, glanced at it for three seconds, then set it aside.

"Don't go into the study anymore. The gardenia scent isn't good for the baby," he said.

He didn't smile or hug me.

He got up and changed the password on the study door.

Later, I found an old prescription tucked away in the back of his closet. It was for gardenia essential oil sleep spray, with a note: "She has trouble sleeping. Only this scent works for her."

Standing there, wrapped in the gardenia fragrance, everything suddenly clicked for me.

For the past two years, he wasn't keeping me by his side; he was holding onto an old dream he could never finish.

The fragrance I'd breathed in for over seven hundred days and nights was someone else's sleeping pill.

No matter how lush the gardenias bloomed, they were never for me.

That night, I threw open every window.

The north wind rushed in, bit by bit sweeping away the sweet scent that had seeped out from under the study door.

The last gardenia in the vase was blown to the floor, its petals scattering across the ground like shattered snow.

I watched them, and for the first time, I felt that scent that never belonged to me finally disappear.

*****

Three days after Edward changed the lock on the study door, I didn't ask for the new password.

When Edward came home, he was carrying a brown paper bag with a stem of white flowers poking out. The faint scent reached me before his words.

He stood in the entryway, car keys in hand, and glanced at me, his tone calm. "You didn't go in today, did you?"

I set the oatmeal on the table, eyes downcast. "No."

He looked relieved, but maybe thought my answer was too brief. He paused for a moment while changing his shoes. "The doctor said you need to keep your emotions steady now that you're pregnant. Don't keep focusing on things that don't concern you."

"Yeah, the oatmeal is ready. You should eat," I said.

Edward frowned, pulled out a chair, and sat down. The spoon clinked softly against the bowl. "Lydia, I'm not trying to keep you out. It's just that there are some important documents in the study, and you don't want to mess with them."

I nodded and slid a plate of steak over to him.

He glanced at the plate and suddenly asked, "Why didn't you put any black pepper in it?"

"You said your stomach was bothering you last night," I replied.

Edward's hand paused on the spoon, as his gaze softened a bit. "You remembered, huh."

I stayed quiet.

Back then, I'd ask if his stomach still hurt, set some warm water and his medicine by his side, and then, when he finally let his guard down, I'd gently ask if he wanted to pick a name for the baby.

Now, I kept my head down and quietly ate my oatmeal.

He took a few bites, and then his phone lit up.

The screen was facing up, and the caller ID said "Charlotte."

Edward instantly set down his spoon and covered the screen with his thumb, like he was afraid I'd see it, or maybe as if the air might bruise that name.

He got up and stepped out onto the balcony, leaving the glass door slightly open. The wind carried in a faint trace of his voice.

Then he said, "I'm home... The flowers have been changed, so don't worry... She has no idea..."

As he said that, my spoon scraped quietly against the bottom of the bowl.

Edward glanced back at me.

I looked up and gave him a faint smile. "The oatmeal's gone cold."

He stared at my face for a couple of seconds, like he was searching for that familiar look of hurt he used to see. But when he found nothing, he hung up and walked back over.

"Just an old friend. She's not in great health and just returned to the country. Her emotions have been all over the place lately," he said.

"Oh," I replied.

He sat back down across from me, his brow furrowing more. "Don't read too much into it. She's different from you."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how they sounded. He pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and added, "What I mean is, she's not someone who's going to interfere with our lives."

I pushed my bowl away and said softly, "I'm full."

Edward glanced at the bowl, still more than half full, his voice carrying a hint of annoyance. "You're not eating for yourself anymore. Don't take it out on your body because you're upset."

"I'm not upset," I replied.

"Then sit down and finish your oatmeal," he ordered.

'He was always like this,' I thought, a familiar mix of resignation and helplessness washing over me.

When he was gentle, it always felt like charity. When he was stern, it was under the guise of caring for me.

I sat back down, picked up my spoon, and finished the cold oatmeal, one slow bite after another.

Edward's face relaxed a bit, as if he was finally satisfied that I was still under his thumb.

After dinner, he took the brown paper bag and headed into the study.

As the door swung open and shut, I caught a glimpse of the vase in front of the photo, its water freshly changed.

The white gardenias were packed tightly in the vase, blooming in full splendor.

When Edward came out, he was holding a small wooden box.

He set the box in front of me, his tone flat. "Put this away. Don't keep it in the bedroom anymore."

I opened it. Inside was the silver gardenia-shaped hairpin my grandmother had left me.

My grandmother used to run a little pastry shop in Southgate. Every June, she'd put gardenias by the door, saying their scent was so clean that it could brighten anyone's mood.

The day I first met Edward, I was wearing that silver hairpin.

He stood there in the crowd, staring at me for ages, like he'd seen a ghost.

I thought it was love at first sight.

It turned out that he mistook me for someone else.

I closed the box, my thumb pressing against the old silver hairpin. "Why should I put it away?"

Edward rubbed his brow. "Charlotte can't stand the smell of old silver. She might be coming over tomorrow to grab a few things. Maybe you could keep out of her way for a bit."

I looked up at him. "This is my home."

He paused, lowering his voice. "Lydia, don't argue with me over something so small. Too much floral scent isn't good for you right now. Why don't you go stay with Mom for a couple of days? Just take it as a little time to relax."

His phone buzzed in his hand.

He glanced down at the screen, his expression shifting slightly, and immediately grabbed his coat.

As he reached the door, he seemed to remember something and turned back. "Don't go into the study, and leave the hairpin off, too."

After the door closed, the living room was left with the lingering cold from the oatmeal and the faint gardenia scent seeping through the crack under the study door.

I hugged the wooden box to my chest, and suddenly my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

The photo showed a woman standing at the airport exit, her profile looking almost like mine.

The caption was one line: [Mrs. Grant, isn't it exhausting wearing someone else's face and her flowers, pretending they're yours?]