Chapter 4

Maybe Dylan was just out having fun and lost track of time. I tried to reassure myself.

Then I shook my throbbing head and made my way to the kitchen.

I cooked a whole spread. Another hour slipped by, but the front door stayed stubbornly quiet.

Every time I listened for someone to come home, all I got was disappointment, again and again.

I sat there with my head down, watching the food go from hot to cold. Then I reheated it. Watched it go cold again. Over and over. Each time hoping someone would walk through the door.

"Dylan, I made your favorite chicken pot pie. When will you be home?" I whispered, talking to myself.

I cut myself a piece, took a bite, and chewed slowly.

"Or maybe... it just doesn't taste good?" I muttered, my voice trailing off.

In the end, I picked up my phone and called Justin.

Maybe Dylan was just out having too much fun and lost track of time.

I'd just remind them to come home.

The call connected quickly, but it wasn't Justin who answered.

"Andrea, it's me. Justin and Dylan are here with me, so don't worry," Bridget said, her voice soft and delicate.

Her voice came through the phone. In the background, I could hear laughter. Playing. Having fun. It all stabbed right into my heart.

Without thinking, I hung up the phone.

Then I came to my senses. And I couldn't understand why I suddenly felt like an outsider.

I was Justin's wife and Dylan's mom.

Was it really just like those messages said?

Was Bridget really the only one Justin'd ever love?

I couldn't just sit here. I was going to bring them home.

Once I'd made up my mind, I grabbed my coat and rushed out. But the moment I stepped outside, everything went fuzzy. I collapsed right at the doorstep.

When I finally came to, I found myself in a shabby, unfamiliar room. I looked up, alert, and saw a stranger, his back to me, busy with something.

The man turned around and said, "You're awake?" His voice was calm, but I could sense a hint of concern.

He walked over, holding something. A towel wrapped around what looked like ice.

"You've had a high fever for two days now," he said, his voice serious. "I didn't have much cash, so I've been using ice packs to bring it down."

He kept a stern face, but for someone so small, he seemed tough.

After a short pause, he spoke again, his tone matter-of-fact, "Relax, I didn't do anything weird while you were out."

"This is the last ice pack. Once your fever breaks, you can head home," he said, trying to sound reassuring.

Before I knew it, I took it from him and pressed it to my forehead. It was cold as hell, but somehow, it made me feel a little warmer inside.

After saying goodbye to the boy, I hurried back home.

I'd been out cold with a fever for two days. Surely Justin and Dylan would be frantic with worry by now.

But when I opened the door, no one was at home. Even the food from two days ago was still on the table.

Not one call. Not one message. Two days gone, and neither of them even noticed. Like they didn't care if I was alive or dead.

I slumped onto the couch, staring blankly at Bridget's latest post on my phone, my fingers unconsciously curling into fists.

In the photo, Bridget was smiling warmly, with Justin and Dylan leaning against her, one on each side.

The caption read: [Thank you to my brother—I know how busy you are—and to this little sweetheart for spending Valentine's Day with me.]

Turns out, they'd spent the past two days with her.

Justin had never celebrated Valentine's Day with me.

By now, it was all painfully clear.

It wasn't that he forgot. It wasn't that he was bad at this stuff. He just never loved me.

And Dylan? He didn't love me either.

All those memories drifted through my mind. The warmth. The good times. They felt so fragile, like they'd break apart if I even tried to hold onto them.

My heart felt like it was being ripped to shreds. I tried to smile, even though I was falling apart inside, but tears quickly filled my eyes.

I told myself that I should just end this ridiculous mess.