Chapter 2

Here we went again.

Her needs were always urgent.

Mine could always wait.

I looked at him. "Did you even ask me why I wanted that room as a study?"

Julian paused.

Of course he forgot.

That room faced south and had the best sunlight.

I had told him I wanted to bring in the old wooden desk my dad left behind.

My dad passed away early, and I didn't have many memories of him.

But that desk had seen me through high school exams and the hardest nights of my early career.

I wanted it in my future home, like a piece of him was still walking forward with me.

Julian had known.

Chloe had known too.

Yet both of them forgot.

Or rather, they never truly cared.

A sudden, suffocating exhaustion washed over me.

Not the kind you feel after an argument.

It was decades of piled-up weariness finally finding an exit.

I picked up my purse by the entryway.

Julian asked, "Where are you going?"

"I have some things to handle."

He checked his watch. "Don't take too long. We still need to shoot the kitchen footage later."

I let out a faint, quiet laugh.

He didn't even ask what I needed to handle.

Nor did he notice that I left those cream-colored slippers by the door.

As I walked out of the apartment, Chloe’s voice drifted from behind:

"Julian, can we change the curtains to blush pink? The grey feels kind of cold."

Julian answered, "Whatever you like."

I pressed the elevator button for the ground floor.

In the mirrored wall, my face was pale, but my eyes were terrifyingly dry.

I realized this house probably never had room for me from the start.

I didn't turn my phone back on until the next morning.

The housewarming group chat already had over a hundred unread messages.

Chloe had posted a short clip.

The thumbnail was her and Julian standing in the foyer, the smart lock announcing her as the homeowner.

Her caption read: *First night in the new home. So this is what it feels like when someone prepares a whole home for you.*

Julian had liked it.

Staring at that little red heart, a wave of bitter irony hit me.

Then Chloe tagged me in the chat:

[Eve, I changed the housewarming menu! The home-style dishes you picked were way too plain. I booked this trendy private chef service—their plating looks so aesthetic for photos.]

Julian chimed in:

[Yeah. We'll have a lot of guests, so it's better to keep things classy.]

The dishes I originally ordered were from my dad's hometown.

Braised ribs, clay pot tofu, steamed fish, braised duck.

Simple, unpretentious food.

When I was little, my favorite thing in the world was the clay pot tofu Dad made after work.

He’d fry the tofu until both sides were golden crisp, then simmer it in a clay pot.

I’d lean against the kitchen door waiting, and he’d tease me for being a little foodie.

After he died, nobody ever made that dish for me again.

I wanted to taste it again on the day we warmed our new home.

Not to impress anyone.

Just to quietly tell him: *Dad, I have a home of my own now.*

I had told Julian the story behind it.

Back then, he said, "Sure, whatever makes you happy."

Now, he had forgotten.

Or maybe he remembered, but decided it wasn't important.

Chloe sent another voice note in the group:

"Eve, have you been stressed lately? So much stuff wasn't finalized, so I just stepped in to help. Don't be mad at me, okay? I just didn't want you to be overwhelmed."

I didn't reply.

Julian didn't message me privately to check on me, either.

He only posted in the group chat:

[Eve, Chloe worked hard to get all this done. Don't be ungrateful.]

I stared at his words for a long time.

Who was really breaking whose heart here?