Chapter 2
"2022, 2023, 2024. Ever since we got our marriage certificate, you never skipped a single year," I said.
"I never actually gave them to her," Ethan finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.
He finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I know it bothers you, but I really didn't give them to her. It's just...every year, when that time comes, it's become a habit I can't shake," Ethan said.
A habit! The word stung as it sank in.
Hearing it was like taking a knife to the chest, not deep, but sharp enough to hurt.
So, to him, holding onto another woman for ten years and buying her gifts was just a habit?
Then what did three years of marriage with me even count for?
I stared at him, my eyes stinging, but my voice stayed flat and steady.
"So what, you're telling me you're just used to being sentimental, never planned to cheat, and I'm supposed to just accept that?" I retorted.
"That's not what I meant," Ethan replied.
"Then what do you mean?" I shot back.
He looked at me, and for once, I could really see genuine frustration in his eyes, like he honestly didn't know what else to say.
"Everyone's got baggage. I admit I haven't handled mine well, but that doesn't mean you don't matter to me now," Ethan said quietly.
I just stood there, feeling like the past three years had been nothing but a complete joke.
For three years, Ethan picked me up from work every day, always knew when I needed extra care, brought me hot milk when I worked late, and stood up for me whenever clients made things difficult.
He was gentle, thoughtful, and always steady, never losing his cool.
All my friends said I'd married well.
Even I used to think I was lucky to have found someone so steady and dependable.
It turned out that all that steadiness was just because he kept all his emotional chaos hidden away somewhere I could never reach.
I pressed the sticky note against his chest.
"Our anniversary is off," I said flatly.
With that, I turned and walked out.
Ethan grabbed my arm.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"I'm just going out for some air," I replied.
"It's raining outside," he said.
"Even that's better than being stuck in here," I shot back.
His grip tightened, and his voice dropped, low and serious.
"You're seriously getting worked up over some old stuff?" he said.
I slowly turned back to look at him.
"Ethan, you really think this is just some old stuff?" I said, my voice steady but sharp.
I pointed at the wall, enunciating every word.
"That right there is the evidence you brought another woman into our marriage," I fumed.
I didn't go home that night.
I crashed at a hotel near the office and spent the whole night staring at the ceiling, wide awake.
At three in the morning, Ethan texted me.
[Come home. Let's talk.]
I didn't text back.
Five minutes later, he texted again.
[I'll handle that stuff.]
I stared at my phone, feeling absolutely nothing inside.
If I hadn't just happened to open that hidden cabinet today, would he have ever bothered to deal with it?
No.
He would've kept that whole wall quietly tucked away in our home, letting it sit there until I got old, until he was so used to it he wouldn't even think about it anymore. Maybe someday, when I finally turned the guest room into a nursery or let a parent move in, I'd realize I'd spent all these years sleeping right next to the shadow of another woman.
As soon as I walked into the office the next morning, Ethan was already there.
His suit was wrinkled, and his eyes were bloodshot. He clearly hadn't slept at all.
My coworkers sneaked a couple of glances our way, then tactfully made themselves scarce.
He set a cup of hot latte on my desk, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I put all that stuff away," he said.
I didn't even look up, just kept working on my design.
"Oh," I replied, my tone flat.
"Sophia, don't act like this," Ethan said softly.
"Then how am I supposed to react?" I finally looked up at him. "Should I be grateful you finally moved your precious old flame out of our home last night?"
His expression froze.
I'd never used this tone with him before.
We hardly ever argued after we got married.
It wasn't that we didn't have issues. Most of the time, I just didn't feel like spelling everything out.
But this time, things were different.
Once you've seen it, you can't unsee it. There's no way to go back to how things were before.
Ethan pulled out a chair and sat down, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I haven't seen Jessica in ten years, and I've never done anything to hurt you. You can't just let a few gifts erase everything we've built over these three years," he said.
"It's not the three years I'm giving up on, it's you," I said, my voice steady but cold.
"What's wrong with me?" Ethan asked, his voice tight.
I set down my mouse and looked at him.
"You live with me, but you keep a room for another woman—her gifts, her memories. And you really think this is nothing?" I said, my voice sharp.
He was stunned for a moment, then finally managed, "That's all in the past."
"No, it's not," I said, locking eyes with him. "It's still going on."
The past didn't get renewed every year.
The word "habit" — only those who were continuing could say it.
He was quiet for a moment, then unlocked his phone and slid it over to me.