Chapter 2

The motion-sensor light in the entryway flicked on.

The warm yellow glow spilled across the floor, highlighting the light gray tiles I'd picked out myself.

Claire stood outside the door, looking awkward and a little self-conscious, and shuffled half a step to the side.

"Anna, I'm really sorry for crashing here. I'm just staying for a bit, and I'll move out as soon as I find a place," she said.

"It's no trouble at all. Take your time looking. Stay here for now." Edward cut me off before I could say a word.

He ushered Claire inside, then pulled out a pair of pink bunny slippers from the shoe cabinet and set them by her feet.

They were the matching slippers I'd spent half a month picking out online, planning for us to wear together when he came back.

Claire slipped her feet into them. Her feet looked tiny in those slippers, which only made her seem more fragile.

"Guess these are a bit too big. Once you're settled in, I'll get you a new pair," Edward grumbled offhandedly.

My heart gave a sharp, painful jolt.

I'd bought them in my own size. She was shorter than me, so of course her feet were smaller.

I walked inside, put on the guest slippers, and watched as Edward carried Claire's luggage into the guest room.

I stood in the doorway, suddenly feeling like a total outsider.

It wasn't long before he came back out, scanning the living room.

"The mattress in the guest room is way too hard. Claire's not in good shape. She can't sleep on something like that," he said, as if it was common sense.

He turned to me, totally expecting I'd go along with it.

"Anna, let Claire have the master bedroom. We've got all the time in the world together," he added.

This whole apartment, from the first nail hammered in to the last painting hung, was all my work.

I had tried out dozens of beds in a million furniture stores before finally picking the expensive latex mattress in the master bedroom.

Brand-new sky-blue bedding covered the bed. It was our favorite shade, dotted with little stitched stars, like we'd dreamed of.

I used to gush to him on video calls about how soft the mattress was, how pretty the bedding looked. I'd told him that when he came home, he'd finally get a good night's sleep.

Back then, he'd smiled at me through the screen, all gentle, and said, "Thanks for what you've done, babe. When I get back, it'll be my turn to spoil you."

Five years passed, and he was finally back.

But now, the bed I poured my heart into was going to another woman.

I didn't say a word. Instead, I stared at him, numb.

The room went dead silent.

Right on cue, Claire stepped out of the guest room, tugging at Edward's sleeve.

"Edward, really, it's fine. The guest room is perfectly okay. I can just add a couple more blankets," she said softly. "Anna put so much effort into this place. The master bedroom is for you two. How could I possibly take it?"

Her voice was barely a whisper, breathy and weak, and she looked paler than before.

Edward instantly grabbed her wrist, his face full of worry.

"You just had that sur... You haven't recovered yet. How can you sleep on a hard mattress?" he blurted out.

Those few words didn't slip past me. I kept turning his unfinished sentence over in my head.

Edward seemed to realize he'd slipped up. His eyes darted away for a second, but then he looked right at me, acting like he was totally justified.

"Claire had a minor surgery last month, and she's still weak. Anna, you're always so understanding. Don't be petty about this," he said.

Five years of waiting, all the blood, sweat, and tears I put into this place, but all I got was him calling me petty.

I looked around the living room, still not fully set up. The sofa had just been delivered, and my unopened tableware sat on the coffee table.

In the corner, wedding favors I'd picked out for our big day were still piled up.

"Fine. Do whatever you want," I said.

As Edward helped Claire into the master bedroom, she glanced back at me, her eyes full of apology.

But before the door closed, I caught her fingers wrapped around Edward's wrist, refusing to let go.

I went to the kitchen to heat up the food.

I'd made it last night.

I figured Edward might not be able to handle airplane food, so I cooked his favorite beef and even simmered a pot of soup for him.

Edward came over after washing his hands, and the first thing he said was, "Claire's not feeling well. Can you make some oatmeal for her?"

I stood there, holding the bowl of soup, frozen in place.

"Can't you eat this?" I asked.

"That's not what I meant," Edward said, rubbing his forehead. "She's still recovering, and her appetite's weak."

I set the soup down on the table.

"Edward, I took time off work to come pick you up. I waited for you for three hours," I said.

He paused, looking a little taken aback, like he'd just remembered I could get tired too.

The next second, Claire started coughing in the master bedroom.

"I'll go check on her." With that, Edward immediately went over.

In the end, no one touched the food.

I stood in the kitchen, watching the oatmeal bubble away in the pot.

Edward carried the oatmeal into the master bedroom, his voice gentle. "Just have a little, okay? You need to eat something before you take your medicine."

Claire's voice was weak. "Am I being a burden to you?"

"Don't think like that."

His voice was so gentle, nothing like how he ever talked to me.

I sat at the dining table, my stomach aching from emptiness.

There were times across those five years when I had a fever of 102.2°F, and I'd messaged Edward.

He'd replied four hours later. [Remember to take your medicine. Don't push yourself.]

Back then, I'd read that message over and over, telling myself he cared about me, even with the time difference.

But now, compared to how he treated Claire, it was painfully clear who mattered more.