Chapter 3

"Jade, who are you texting?"

Ryan suddenly asked.

I didn't even look up. "A friend."

He didn't ask again, but for the rest of the drive, he kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror like he wanted to say something.

I ignored him, keeping my eyes fixed on the window.

In the past, I used to chatter nonstop during drives. He'd always act annoyed and uninterested.

Now I didn't want to talk to him at all.

Harold was happy to see me, but the second he saw Celeste get out of the car, his face turned cold.

Celeste pulled two bottles of wine from the trunk.

Ryan smiled. "Dad, Celeste brought these for you."

"I don't want them."

Harold grabbed the bottles and threw them to the ground.

Celeste's face fell. Her eyes watered, making her look pitiful.

"Dad, what are you doing?"

Ryan shouted, then turned to comfort Celeste.

"What am I doing? I don't have a son like you anymore. Now get out of my house."

Harold's face was bright red with anger.

I said gently, "Dad, don't say things you'll regret."

"Stop playing the victim. This is all your fault."

Ryan snapped at me.

"You run to Dad with every little thing. Jade, when are you going to grow up? Tattling like a child?"

I dropped my smile and nodded. "You're right. I won't do it again."

Harold was furious. He pointed at Ryan and shouted, "Why are you yelling at Jade? She didn't say a word to me. I'm the one disowning you."

"Apologize to her. Now."

Ryan's jaw tightened, his features sharp with tension.

Harold raised his hand like he was going to hit him. I quickly pulled Harold inside.

Ryan followed with Celeste.

"Jade, I know you're upset I didn't come home on Christmas Eve. I can explain."

Ryan's face was tense, his tone sharp.

"I was working late that night. Celeste was worried I'd be too tired to drive, so she let me stay over. That's all."

"Nothing happened between us. Don't jump to conclusions."

"Got it."

I replied flatly.

Whether anything happened between Ryan and Celeste that night no longer mattered to me.

"Don't you have anything to ask me?" Ryan pressed.

"No."

I turned toward the kitchen to help Margaret with dinner.

Ryan never cooked—he said he hated the smell of grease.

After we got married, cooking became my responsibility.

"Jade, don't worry about that. Let's talk."

Harold stopped me. He lit a cigarette and sighed.

"I'm sorry about your mom. Ryan was completely out of line. As his father, I take responsibility. If you want to divorce him, Margaret and I will support you."

"I wouldn't ask you to forgive him. I just hope that even after the divorce, you'll still think of this as home. Come visit anytime."

I stared at my fingertips and said nothing.

Ryan's face turned pale.

"Dad, what are you talking about? Why would Jade divorce me? What did I even do wrong?"

"And what happened to her mother?"

Harold's hand shook as he held his cigarette, his face contorted with anger.

"You still have the nerve to ask? Your mother-in-law always treated you like her own son. And you?"

"She had a brain hemorrhage on Christmas Eve. She was in the hospital fighting for her life. Where were you?"

"When she died, where were you?"

"You have no sense of responsibility. If Jade hadn't stuck up for you today, you wouldn't have been allowed through that door."