Chapter 1
Castiel Patrick had been married for three years, but he still didn't know the birthday of his wife, Julia Patrick.
But he remembered the shade of lipstick that Denise Marsh, his first love, wore.
Seven days after the divorce, he found three unopened birthday presents in the drawer Julia had left behind.
At the very bottom was a stomach cancer diagnosis, dated the same day as their wedding anniversary.
The last page of her diary had only one sentence: [Castiel, I won't spend the rest of my life waiting for you.]
*****
Denise, Castiel's first love, had come back.
The butler, Roland, was the one who brought the news.
Julia was hunched over in the kitchen, shelling a lobster. Two cuts on her hands were bleeding, crimson drops seeping between her fingers.
Castiel didn't eat anything spicy or with onions. He wanted his lobster shelled and deveined, and his beef cooked only to medium-rare.
Julia had kept all these preferences in mind for three years, coming up with new ways to prepare his three meals every single day.
But Castiel had never once told her at the dinner table, "Thank you."
Roland lingered awkwardly at the kitchen doorway. "Mrs. Patrick, Mr. Patrick called. He wants you to get the master bedroom ready."
"Get it ready?" Julia echoed, a hint of confusion in her voice.
"Ms. Marsh will be staying over tonight. Mr. Patrick wants you to move to the guest room," Roland explained.
Julia's hands froze mid-shell for a couple of seconds.
The saltwater seeped into her cuts, making them sting sharply.
She didn't ask why.
After three years married into the Patrick family, Julia had learned not to ask why.
Even if she did, no one would answer.
She set the lobster aside, wiped her hands on her apron, and went upstairs to get her things out of the master bedroom.
Castiel had claimed almost the entire closet, leaving barely any space for her.
Her clothes were crammed into a small corner, hanging from old plastic hangers.
She carefully took out each piece, folded them neatly, and carried them to the guest room at the end of the hall.
As she rounded the corner of the staircase, she caught sight of the place on the wall where their wedding photo had once hung.
Now, nothing was hanging there.
Only the nail remained. The photo was gone.
She stood in front of that bare wall for a few seconds, her arms aching from the weight of the clothes she was holding.
Three years ago, at their wedding, Castiel wore a black suit, his face completely blank as they exchanged rings.
After the ceremony, the first thing he said to Julia was, "You'll stay in the master bedroom, and I'll be in the study. Don't enter my room."
On their wedding night, Julia sat alone on the big bed, hearing the study door lock with a sharp click.
Since then, Castiel would return to the master bedroom to sleep sometimes, but he never laid a finger on her.
They shared the same bed, but the distance between them felt farther than between strangers.
Julia used to think maybe he wasn't good at expressing himself and told herself that if she waited long enough, he'd eventually get close to her.
Three years went by, but nothing ever changed. And she had no idea when their wedding photo disappeared from the wall.
She turned away from the wall and continued toward the guest room.
The bed in the guest room felt cold and empty.
She put her clothes into the bare closet and then headed back downstairs to finish making dinner.
At seven o'clock, Castiel's car pulled into the driveway.
A woman got out of the passenger side.
Her long hair fell over her shoulders, she wore a flowing floral dress and white canvas sneakers, and her smile was sunny and innocent.
It was Denise Marsh, the girl Castiel had always cherished from three years ago.
She was the only name that ever brought a change to Castiel's face in the past three years.
Julia stood at the dining room doorway, holding the dishes she'd finished preparing, and watched as Castiel walked around the front of the car and opened the door for Denise himself.
He took Denise's suitcase, leaned in to say something to her, and a smile appeared on his lips.
For once, he actually smiled.
For three years since Julia married into the Patrick family, it was the first time she had seen Castiel smile.
Only then did she find he did know how to smile.
But he never smiled at her.
Her hands trembled as she held the dishes, and that familiar dull ache in her stomach returned.
Castiel walked in with Denise, shot Julia a glance, and said, "Add another set of dishes."
"Already done," Julia said quietly.
He nodded, without another glance at her, and took Denise straight to the dining room.
At the dinner table, Denise sat by Castiel's side, with dishes Castiel had served her himself set in front of her.
Julia sat across from them, quietly eating from her own plate.
Denise looked up and smiled, "Mrs. Patrick, did you make all these dishes? They taste amazing."
Julia was about to answer, but Castiel spoke up first, "You don't need to call her Mrs. Patrick." He looked at Denise, passed the plate of ribs to her, and added, "Just call her Julia."
His words hung in the air, casual and unconcerned.
Julia's hand froze mid-motion, and her fork suspended above her plate. 'No need to call her Mrs. Patrick? For three years, he never acknowledged me as his wife.'
But she stayed silent, lowering her head and quietly kept eating.