Chapter 3
Their first year together. Lily was a junior. Henry was twenty-eight.
They kept it quiet.
Not because he was ashamed of her background.
Because Lily once said, "Let's wait until I graduate. I don't want people saying I'm riding on a man's coattails."
Henry leaned against the lamppost outside her dorm, head tilted, watching her.
"Fine. I'll wait," he said. "As long as it takes."
And he did.
He waited for a whole year and a half.
When he came to see her, he never drove that expensive car. He took cabs. Sometimes even a city bike.
His shirts never showed a logo.
When her classmates asked, he introduced himself as "in business."
He didn't mention the Hawthorne Capital or himself as the rising star of Riverdale's business world.
He just said he was in business.
Lily's roommate teased her once. "Your boyfriend seems pretty solid."
Lily smiled and didn't say anything.
Solid. That's exactly what she wanted.
*****
By their third year together, Lily graduated.
She didn't go to Henry's company. She joined a small independent architecture firm. The pay wasn't great, but she was learning.
Henry picked her up from work.
The car's AC was always set to her perfect temperature.
There was always a bottle of room-temperature water and a little pastry on the passenger seat.
Nothing fancy. Just a treat from the bakery downstairs.
"Passed by today. Brought you one," he said.
Lily unwrapped the pastry and took a bite.
A bit of cream stuck to the corner of her mouth.
Henry reached over and wiped her lip with his thumb.
Then, naturally, he put his thumb in his own mouth.
"Good," he said.
Lily looked down.
The tips of her ears felt warm.
*****
By their fifth year together, they got married.
They had a small wedding. Nothing extravagant.
Lily's choice.
"Just the people who matter most," she said.
Henry's family wasn't thrilled.
His mother's side had comments Lily overheard.
"A girl from an ordinary family.
"Henry's situation—he ought to marry someone more suitable."
At the dinner table, Henry said one thing in front of everyone.
"Who I marry is my decision.
"Not up for discussion."
The whole table went quiet.
Lily sat beside him, hands in her lap. Under the table, he reached over and took one.
Henry's hand was warm.
His palm was dry, and his grip was just right.
This wasn't for show.
It was his way of saying, "I chose you, and I'll never regret it."
It rained lightly on the wedding day.
Lily wore a simple white dress. Not a floor-length strapless gown. Just a simple white one that came to her knees.
Henry stood at the end of the aisle, watching her walk toward him.
His eyes were a little red.
He blinked hard.
His best man nudged him. "Dude, don't cry."
He didn't answer.
He just watched her.
Lily reached him.
He looked down, voice a little rough. "You look beautiful."
Lily tilted her face up. "So do you."
When they exchanged rings, Henry slid the platinum band onto her finger.
The inside was engraved with a date.
06.18.2011. The third year they were together. Her birthday.
He'd remembered.
He always did.
Lily looked at the ring and turned it gently.
It fit perfectly. Not too tight, not too loose.
Just like their relationship. Not clingy. Not distant.
Everything was just right.
*****
Life after marriage was quiet.
But it was not the boring quiet of faded passion.
It was the quiet of a smooth surface with strong currents underneath. The good kind.
They had their own careers.
Lily slowly worked her way up to project manager at the firm.
Henry's company kept growing.
Sometimes they were busy at their own jobs.
When they weren't, he cooked.
Henry wasn't a good cook.
The ribs were always way too salty, and the veggies always turned into a soggy mess.
But he was always serious about it.
He'd tie his apron perfectly straight and chop veggies super carefully.
Lily sat by the kitchen door, watching him fumble, sometimes laughing out loud.
"Are you helping or just watching?" he asked without turning.
"Watching."
"Lily."
"Yeah?"
"You're impossible."
"Yeah."
Her eyes crinkled with laughter.
These moments would replay in her mind later, like silent films.
The scenes were clear, the colors warm.
But she could never hit replay.
*****
By their eighth year together, Lily was thirty-one.
She left the firm and started her own small studio.
She did independent architectural design.
She didn't take big projects.
She took the interesting small ones—community renovations, old house restorations, kids' playgrounds.
Henry supported her.
He didn't just say "do whatever you want."
He put his money where his mouth was.
Her studio rent, renovation—he wired the money without a word.
Lily refused. "I'll do it myself.
"I don't want your money."
Henry leaned against the doorframe, watching her measure the new studio space. Long legs crossed, hands in his pockets.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because it has to be mine." Lily crouched with her measuring tape, checking a corner. "Your money is yours. My career is mine. Separate."
Henry laughed. "Fine. You're the boss."
The studio did okay later on.
A few community renovation projects got featured in a local design magazine.
Lily bought three copies.
One for the studio.
One to mail to her mother.
The last one, she'd planned to give to Henry.
But he came home very late that night.
She was already asleep.
The magazine sat on the entryway shelf.
He never noticed it.
That was year eight.
Lily didn't think much of it.
She thought he was too busy.
But looking back later, maybe from year eight on, something had already shifted.
She just hadn't looked closely.
Or maybe she didn't want to.
Year ten to year twelve, the change came slow.
Nothing happened overnight, not all at once.
It was more like mold creeping up a wall. If one didn't squat down and look closely, they'd never notice.
Year ten.
Henry's business dinners increased.