Chapter 4

Elena POV

Early the next morning, I returned to the front of that building.

Before long, Ethan’s car pulled up to the entrance.

A woman walked out holding a little girl's hand. He hurried over, bent down, scooped the child into his arms, and spun her around. The little girl giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck and refusing to come down.

Setting the child down, he turned, smoothed the woman's windblown hair, and kissed her lips.

The movement was effortless and natural, an intimacy I had never witnessed in all the years I had known him.

Sitting in the cab across the street, watching through the glass, I didn't step out, nor did I tell the driver to honk.

Later, I learned he used the chaos of gala preparations as an excuse to take them on a brief getaway, claiming he wanted to dodge social obligations.

The money he transferred over—I caught a glimpse of it on his phone later—had eight zeroes trailing behind it.

Madelyn posted on Ins. In the photo, the three of them were huddled close, his cheek pressed against the little girl's, the caption proudly announcing that this was what a real family looked like.

A flood of likes piled up beneath it, with comments saying the child had his exact eyes and that they couldn't wait for the wedding.

Standing in the wind outside the apartment complex, I suddenly recognized the gift in his suit pocket.

A month ago, he had looked me in the eye and said he had a grand surprise for me at the gala, telling me to guess what it was.

For an entire month, I had actually tried to guess.

I wondered if it had something to do with the three walls of vinyl records, or if he was planning a grand toast in front of the entire crowd. I had even planned out which dress to wear.

The grand gift he spoke of was meant to be handed to another woman at the gala.

My month of eager anticipation had merely been borrowed excitement meant for someone else.

I thought of the handwritten notes he had given me over the years, saved one by one in a tin box on the nightstand—over three hundred cards.

I used to hoard them like treasures, but now every line felt colder than ice.

The fact that he could write over three hundred of them only proved that cheap words took no effort at all.

I didn't storm inside, nor did I call him. I simply turned around and went home.

The first thing I did when I got back was call a local charity.

The three walls of vinyl records he had collected for me—starting from the albums I loved in my youth—he always said he gathered them so I would have my memories kept safe.

He claimed it was to keep my memories safe, and I foolishly believed it, treating it as something that uniquely belonged to me in this house.

Only today did I realize those three walls were just decor for other people to admire. All he wanted was the reputation of a devoted husband.

Things meant purely for show, I no longer wanted.

The movers carrying a stack of records turned to ask me, "Ms. Vance, are you sure you don't want any of these?"

"Take everything. Donate the turntable with them," I said.

Standing before the empty walls, I watched them pack box after box, donating every single piece, leaving nothing behind.

When Ethan pushed the door open later that evening, he said he had seen the donation receipt at the office.

Seeing the three bare walls, he froze.

He hurried over and grabbed my arm. "What happened here? Where did you send these records? I spent years tracking them down one by one for you!"

"I gave them away," I said.

"Gave them away? Why didn't you talk to me first? These things have been with you for years!" His voice rose.

"Would talking to you change anything now?" I slowly slid my arm out of his grip.

"Elena!" It was the first time he had ever raised his voice at me like that. "What are you throwing a fit about? Did I do something wrong? Tell me, and I'll fix it."

"You did nothing wrong," I looked at him, my voice flat. "I just don't want those things anymore."

"Don't want them? When you're sick, I watch over you day and night. When you're bored, I take you to the lake. When you wanted records, I hunted through the whole city for them, and now you just say you don't want them?" He gestured at the empty walls, furious.

"Yes," I said.

"Then what do you want? Tell me, and I'll give it to you," he pressed, staring at me.

"I don't want anything anymore."

"How have I ever mistreated you all these years?" His voice trembled. "When you were sick, I stayed. When you were lonely, I kept you company. And now, with one word, everything is gone."

Every point he listed was true, I could hear it.

Except he had given those exact same things to someone else, and with far more joy.

"Ethan," I called his name, calmer than I had ever been. "The person you were watching over was never me."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. Go to bed early." I turned and walked upstairs.

He reached out to pull me into a hug, but I stepped aside, avoiding his touch.

His mouth opened, but no words came out.

There was a time when a single glance at him told me if he was tired. Today, looking at him, I saw nothing at all, and I had no desire to look any longer.