Chapter 2

Edward left, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

I walked into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. At the corner of my eye, I noticed the faint brown spots he had mentioned—tiny freckles I hadn't seen before.

You wouldn't notice them unless you looked closely, but they were there. They were proof that I was getting older.

My breath caught, and for a moment, panic bloomed quietly inside me.

I used to be terrified of aging—of losing moisture in my skin, of watching it wrinkle, of seeing my hands turn dry and bony.

At some point, that fear had faded. Maybe it was because I thought Edward and I would grow old together. I loved him so deeply that I believed I'd love the older version of myself too, as long as he was beside me.

But I had never considered what would happen if love disappeared first. Turns out, I was still afraid of growing old—just alone this time.

For the first time in my life, I thought about buying a beauty salon membership. By coincidence, the salon I chose was the one where Edward's "sponsored student", Sophie Miller, happened to work.

I had seen her file back when Edward started sending her money, but she didn't recognize me.

She was wearing her beauty salon uniform—a fitted blazer and a skirt that fell above her knees, showing off her legs. With the heating on, she didn't feel cold at all.

One of her coworkers teased her, "Why are you even here part-time when you're carrying that designer bag?"

Sophie laughed awkwardly, "My boyfriend told me to. He said it's not about the money. He just wants me to gain some experience."

The girls giggled and teased her, saying how sweet her boyfriend was. Sophie blushed and stopped talking. When she saw me walk in, she quickly came over, all smiles and courtesy, and introduced the salon's packages.

I wasn't really listening. My mind drifted somewhere else. I just pointed to the most expensive option and asked her to sign me up. While I was in the treatment room, I overheard Sophie on the phone, bragging that she'd landed a big client on her very first day.

Whoever was on the other end must've praised her, because she stood on her tiptoes with excitement, her whole demeanor that of a giddy girl.

She laughed, "Then come pick me up after work, okay? I'll treat you to dinner with the first money I've earned. Deal!"

She hung up and twirled around happily. For a second, I found myself smiling too.

To be fair, she was full of life—young, earnest, and sweet. If she weren't sleeping with my husband, I might have even liked her.

Two hours later, when I came out, I ran into her again. She was about to leave, and the man waiting for her by the door was Edward.

He was wearing a gray coat, looking polished as ever. His expression softened when he saw her, his voice gentle and full of affection. "Was it tiring today?" he asked.

Sophie shook her head and smiled, then pointed toward me, "That's the client who helped me close my first deal."

Edward froze. For a moment, his face was a mask of tension. Then he shot me a warning look, silent but sharp. To him, I was no longer his wife—just a stranger. He quickly led Sophie out. Not long after, he sent me a message—as if something he'd said had just been proven right, his tone full of smug triumph.

He texted: [You went for a facial? I told you, you should start taking better care of yourself. If you just listen, I won't stop loving you just because you're older. Relax.]

I read his message without reacting. He couldn't have been more wrong. I wasn't taking care of myself for him. I was doing it because I was afraid—afraid of time, of loss, of what I saw in the mirror.

My grandmother had raised me. When I was little, she was the sharpest, most graceful woman in town. Her cooking was perfect, her house spotless. But as I grew up, she grew old. Alzheimer's took her piece by piece until she couldn't cook and couldn't keep herself clean.

When she died, it was Edward who helped me with the funeral. That night, I leaned against his shoulder and cried. He told me not to be afraid of aging or death—that he would walk through it all with me.

I wondered when he forgot those words.

Outside, I exhaled into the cold air. Snow was falling—the first of the year. It was the kind of evening that made people want to date and fall in love.