Chapter 3

I was about to throw the lunchbox away.

But then I remembered it was a gift from Joshua back when I was battling depression and barely had an appetite. He had taught himself how to cook during that time, trying out new recipes every day just to get me to eat a little more.

This lunchbox was one of the first things he gave me. I’d kept it all these years, unable to bring myself to let it go.

Thinking of the Joshua who used to care for me so deeply, the Joshua who was so kind and loving, I just couldn’t do it.

Instead, I grabbed some disinfectant and scrubbed it over and over again.

But no matter how clean I tried to make it, the thought of Ivy touching it made me feel sick. No amount of scrubbing could erase the disgust.

Just then, my phone rang.

On the other end, Joshua’s voice sounded weak.

“…Harper, where’s my stomach medicine?”

I instinctively answered, “Middle drawer of your nightstand, on the right.”

There was a moment of silence. “It’s not there…”

I paused, realizing he must’ve run out.

Even though I was still angry, I couldn’t help but feel worried. “Is the pain bad? Can you handle it?”

Another long silence followed.

“…I want some of your shrimp porridge,” he finally said.

His tone—it sounded so much like the Joshua I used to know.

I couldn’t resist. Before my brain could catch up, the words were already out of my mouth. “Wait for me.”

I picked up his prescription from the pharmacy, bought some fresh shrimp and vegetables, and headed to his place.

When he opened the door, he looked terrible—his face pale, his lips colorless, his steps unsteady.

I immediately handed him a glass of water and the capsules. He took them from me without hesitation, as naturally as if we were back in the old days.

Three years of him claiming to hate me, yet he’d grown so used to my care.

I got to work on the porridge. Once it was ready, he slowly ate a bowl, and the color started returning to his face.

I watched him, lost in thought, and finally asked, “Does it taste good?”

He froze, then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

The truth was, I was the one who loved shrimp porridge—not him. He was the one who used to make it perfectly—not me.

Three years had passed, and he still didn’t remember.

I forced a small, bitter smile and turned to clean up the dishes.

But before I could finish, his phone rang.

He answered it, and his expression instantly grew tense. “Are you okay?”

“Just stay where you are—I’ll be there right away.”

A chill ran down my spine. I didn’t need to guess who was on the other end. My gut told me it was Ivy.

I grabbed his wrist before he could leave. “What happened?”

His voice was rushed, impatient. “Ivy’s place caught on fire. I need to go check on her.”

The moment he said her name, my grip tightened instinctively.

“If she had the time to call you, she’s obviously fine. You’re sick—you can’t go out like this…”

I was practically begging him at this point. “Please, just don’t go.”

But Joshua only frowned, looking at me as if I’d said something unforgivable.

“I know you hate Ivy, but how can you say something like that? She’s alone—don’t you think she might be scared?”

He pulled his wrist free and stormed out without another word.

“She’s alone—don’t you think she might be scared?”

Of course, she’d be scared.

Just like I was, back when she cornered me in the bathroom stall, holding a lit cigarette that flickered in and out.

I had been terrified. Terrified to the point of breaking.