Chapter 2
"See that? Claire comes back, and Mr. Lancaster completely loses his mind."
"Back then, Claire's family got into trouble and needed a huge amount of money. Mr. Lancaster didn't even hesitate. He gave her every penny of his startup money and nearly ended up with nothing himself."
"That's nothing. When Claire's depression was at its worst, he stayed by her side for three straight months. He got so worn down he barely looked like himself."
"What do you call that? That's unforgettable. Emily might know him well, but she's the girl next door. How could she compare?"
Their words were like tiny needles sinking into a heart that had already been torn apart.
So that was how deep their bond went, deep enough to share fate itself, through glory and hardship alike.
And me? I was a shadow hiding in the dark, someone who could never step into the light.
In my previous life, what was waiting for me after I finally married him?
Ten years of sleeping in separate rooms. He touched me so rarely I could count the times on one hand, and every time it happened, it was only because his parents were pressuring us to have a child.
In the dark, he'd keep his eyes shut and his brows knotted, like being with me was pure torture.
Once, I burned with a 104-degree fever, collapsed like a rag doll at home alone, and called him, begging him to take me to the hospital. He told me to figure it out myself.
Later, in a photo his assistant had taken by accident, I saw him helping Claire pick out a pet dog. Her smile blooming like a flower.
On the day I went into labor. The bleeding wouldn't stop. A vast terror swallowed me whole. I called him with trembling hands.
He growled, his voice thick with anger. "Emily, having babies is what women are made for. Don't be such a delicate little flower, alright? I'm in the middle of a meeting with a very important client. Call an ambulance yourself."
Then he hung up. When I called back, his phone was already off.
And there I was, in blinding pain and freezing despair, forcing myself to unlock my phone with my last bit of strength, only to see Claire's latest post.
Nine photos. In the background stood a dreamy theme park castle, fireworks blazing overhead while the crowd cheered.
In the center photo, Ryan was lowering his head to kiss Claire on the forehead.
The caption read: [Thank you for always showing up when I need you most.]
That was the moment I gave up fighting.
By the time I heard the ambulance siren downstairs, I couldn't feel the pain anymore.
Before my consciousness faded, my final thought was actually this: Ryan, look. Without me, the two of you really are perfect together.
*****
With the guest of honor gone, the whole party loosened up fast.
I'd lost my appetite, so I told Michael and left early.
The streets on Christmas Eve were a lot quieter than usual, with only the occasional crack of fireworks in the distance. In past years, no matter how busy Ryan was, he always made sure to text me right at midnight.
Sometimes it was a holiday gift card. Sometimes a simple [Merry Christmas.]
That little message had been the only bit of warmth I could hold onto in all that darkness.
This year, my phone screen stayed black the whole time.
At exactly midnight, a huge burst of fireworks lit up half the sky.
Almost at the same moment, Ryan updated his social media for the first time in forever.
In the photo, Claire was asleep against his shoulder, her long hair loose around her face, her cheeks touched with a faint blush. She looked peaceful and beautiful.
There was no caption, only a single moon symbol.
But that was more than enough.
The post was like a bomb dropped into deep water. After a brief silence, the comments flooded in with one congratulatory message after another.
Someone said: [About damn time.]
Another echoed: [Congrats, Mr. Lancaster. You finally got what you wanted.]
Someone else chimed in: [You two better be happy forever.]
Expressionless, I scrolled past it and casually left a like.
The second I did, I refreshed the page, and the post was gone.
Either he'd hidden it from me, or he'd deleted it altogether.
The next second, a message from Claire popped up. [Emily, sorry. I was exhausted earlier and accidentally fell asleep.
[Ryan didn't feel right letting me go home alone when I was like that, so he let me crash in the guest room at his apartment tonight. You won't get the wrong idea, right?]
Looking at that line of text, I could practically picture the triumphant smile on her face while she typed it.
I replied: [Oh.]
The moment it went through, a message from Ryan came in too.
Less than ten seconds apart.
Their timing was so perfect it was almost funny.