Chapter 3

The storage room smelled like rotten wood.

I sat on the narrow bed as my phone screen lit up and faded to black.

Edward didn't text me.

Instead, my best friend Sophie called and immediately asked, "Why do you sound like that? What did Edward do this time?"

I stared at the cracked glass by the window and said softly, "Sophie, I want to sell the pastry shop in Southgate."

Sophie was quiet for a few seconds. "The one your grandmother left you?"

"Yeah," I replied.

"Didn't you say you wanted to keep it, so you could take the baby there to see the gardenias after the baby is born?" she asked.

I rested my hand on my belly. "I'm letting it go for now."

Sophie's voice was tight with anger. "Lydia, don't tell me the Grant family is forcing you to sell it for money? You're pregnant, so how could they let you suffer like this?"

As I was about to say something, there was a knock at the door.

Edward stood in the doorway, holding a glass of warm milk, looking a bit tired. "Who were you talking to?"

I hung up the phone. "Sophie," I answered.

He set the milk on the bedside table, his eyes sweeping over the narrow bed and the thin blanket. His brow furrowed. "Mom arranged this?"

"Yeah," I replied.

"I'll have someone get you a different room," he said.

"It's fine. I'm only staying for one night," I replied.

Edward seemed irritated by how composed I was. He leaned over, picked up the glass of milk from the bedside table, and handed it to me. "Drink it. Don't always look like the world owes you something."

I took the glass but didn't drink.

He sat down next to me and reached out, trying to touch my belly, but I leaned away from his hand.

The air hung heavy for a moment.

Edward pulled his hand back, his voice flat. "Are you still mad about the hairpin?"

I looked at him. "You know my grandmother left that to me."

"I know. That's why I had it kept safe," he said, rubbing his brow. "Charlotte just got back, and she's still adjusting. Don't always see her as the enemy."

"Who is she to you?" I asked.

Edward looked at me, a flicker of impatience in his eyes. "She's an old friend."

"So you keep a photo of an old friend in your study for two years?" I pushed.

"Lydia," he said, his voice low, with a warning edge.

He said my name like a warning, reminding me not to push any further.

I suddenly felt drained. I lowered my head and set the milk back on the bedside table. "Leave me alone. I want to sleep."

Edward didn't move.

He stared at my profile, then suddenly reached out and tilted my chin up, not rough, but firm enough that I had to meet his eyes.

"You weren't like this before," he said.

I gave a small, bitter smile. "Oh? And what was I like before?"

"You were sensible, quiet, and knew your place," he said, finally letting go, his thumb pausing on my chin for a second. "Being pregnant isn't a reason for you to start snapping back."

I looked into his eyes and suddenly asked, "Edward, did you ever love me?"

He froze for a moment, and I could almost feel the silence pressing in between us.

Jane's voice came from outside the door. "Eddie, Charlotte has a headache. She's looking for you."

He got up almost immediately.

As he reached the door, he turned back, his tone softening. "Don't think about stuff that doesn't matter. Get some rest."

After the door closed, a thin skin had formed on the surface of the milk.

I stared at the glass of milk for a long time, until Sophie's message popped up on my phone.

"I've asked around about a buyer for the pastry shop, but are you really sure about this?"

I replied, "I'm sure."

After sending that, I opened my photo album and scrolled to a picture of the prenatal checkup appointment slip I'd taken a month ago.

*****

The following Wednesday, I was going to Southgate Women's and Children's Hospital. It was supposed to be the first prenatal appointment I hoped Edward would join me for.

I updated the note: [Going alone.]

The next morning, I headed to the Grant Manor study to hunt for the silver hairpin.

The study was hardly ever used, and the cabinets were crammed with old photo albums and stacks of paperwork.

I spotted the wooden box in the third drawer, with a clear file bag squeezed in beside it.

The bag was left open, and a corner of yellowed paper was sticking out.

Edward's handwriting was right there on it: [Profile Similarity Assessment.]

My fingers froze.

Inside the file bag were three photos.

One was of Charlotte at seventeen, another was my college graduation photo, and the third was a side shot from our wedding day.

Underneath the photos was a private investigation report: [Name: Lydia Bennett

[Family Background: A pastry shop on the old street in Southgate; grandmother deceased; no influential relatives.

[Personality Assessment: Gentle, dependent, suitable for a long-term companion relationship.]

The last line was circled in red ink: [Highly replaceable.]

I stared at those words, pretending I didn't understand, and read them again.

Charlotte's laughter floated up from downstairs.

Edward replied softly, "Take it easy. Don't fall."

I put the file bag back where I found it and clutched the wooden box tightly to my chest.

As I shut the drawer, a splinter jabbed my finger.

A tiny bead of blood welled up and landed right next to the old silver gardenia on the box lid.

When I got back to the villa, the study door was open.

Edward was inside, on the phone. When he heard my footsteps, he turned around, his eyes instantly locking onto the wooden box in my arms.

"Who said you could go snooping around in the Grant Manor study?" he demanded.

I stood in the doorway, not stepping inside. "I was just getting my own stuff."

He hung up the phone and walked over, blocking the door. "Lydia, don't turn every little thing into an interrogation."

"I want to ask you one thing," I said.

"Go ahead," Edward replied.

I glanced at the photo behind him. Charlotte was smiling softly, and the fresh gardenias in the vase still glistened with water.

"Was it because I reminded you of her the first time you saw me?" I asked.