The day the Seacrest earthquake hit, my husband abandoned me and flew to another city to find his childhood sweetheart. Buried under the crushing weight of the rubble, I sent him a text: “Ethan, there was an earthquake. I’m trapped underground. It’s so dark, I’m so scared…” Hours later, right before the rescue team pulled me out, I sent him two final messages, then tossed my phone deep into the ruins. “Ethan, I can’t hold on anymore. Thank God you were busy with work, or else you would have died down here with me and our baby.” “I’m so glad you’re safe.” —I did it on purpose. I deliberately wanted him to think I died in that darkness. I wanted him to spend the rest of his life repenting for me and the unborn child he left behind. I wanted him to weep bitter tears, choked by a regret he could never undo. And when he could no longer hide from the truth of what he’d done, I would walk right up to him and say: “I want a divorce.” 1 In the second year of my marriage to Ethan, his first love came back from abroad. I was there with him at the airport to pick her up. I watched with my own eyes as the slender, fragile girl in a long white dress threw herself into his arms with tears in her eyes, like a bird finally returning to its nest. “Ethan, I finally get to see you again.” Ethan’s body went rigid for a second before he reached out and gently stroked her hair. “There, there. It’s okay now.” I stood right next to them, feeling as unnecessary as a third wheel. I hesitated for a moment before stepping forward to grab Ethan’s hand, forcing a smile. “Alright, since we’ve found her, let’s go home.” It was as if she had just noticed me. She pulled away from Ethan’s embrace. She smiled, but her face showed a trace of awkward surprise. “Ethan, you’re married?” Ethan gave a low hum of confirmation. The three of us headed home together in a suffocatingly awkward silence. Of course, maybe the only one feeling awkward was me. Chloe was Ethan’s first love, his "one that got away"—and technically, his adopted sister. I always knew Ethan had a girl buried deep in his heart, but it wasn't until after we got married that I learned the full story. Ethan’s background was complicated. He was an orphan. His biological parents died in a car crash when he was nine. Afterward, his father’s best friend—Chloe’s father—took him in. And so, the story of Ethan and Chloe began. Ethan was a withdrawn, quiet child. His childhood trauma had built a wall of ice around him. But Chloe came from a wealthy, happy family. She was innocent and carefree, a little ray of sunshine that slowly melted Ethan’s icy exterior and gave him the warmth of a home. —Of course, Ethan never explicitly told me about his past with Chloe. I pieced it all together myself. But when I led Chloe into the home Ethan and I had shared for three years, and watched her curiously touching this and tracing that, I knew my guess was dead on. That evening, when I was getting ready to cook, Ethan brought home a bag of walnuts and asked me to make walnut-crusted chicken. He said, “Chloe loves walnut-crusted chicken more than anything.” I lowered my eyes and didn't speak for a long time. Ethan was never a detail-oriented person. I had known him for eight years. I spent five of those years chasing him, and the last three living with him as his wife. Even so, he would still forget my preferences. He even forgot that I was deathly allergic to walnuts. But he remembered Chloe’s favorite meal perfectly. Even though she had been living in Europe for the past six years. I pressed my lips together and asked, “Ethan, did you forget? I’m allergic to walnuts. If I even touch them, I break out in hives.” He seemed to freeze. Then, he smiled and gently nudged me out of the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Maya. I forgot. We never have walnuts on our dinner table anyway. Why don't you go sit in the living room? I’ll make dinner tonight.” Actually, I had eaten walnuts with Ethan once. Three years ago, right after I finally managed to win his heart. I was walking on cloud nine that day. During lunch, he randomly ordered a walnut and goat cheese salad, and without even looking, I took a bite. That time, he was the one who rushed me to the ER. But that was a long time ago. He must have forgotten. I nodded silently and didn't argue. Chloe was sitting in the living room, and I didn't want to make the atmosphere tense. During dinner, perhaps out of guilt for the kitchen incident, Ethan kept putting food on my plate. “The shrimp is really good today.” I ate it slowly. When I looked up, I saw Chloe place a piece of shrimp on my plate as well. She looked at Ethan, then at me, her smile gentle and her gesture perfectly natural. “He’s right, Maya. Eat some more. Ethan makes the best shrimp.” It felt like I was the guest in my own home. 2 Chloe moved into our guest room. It was Ethan’s idea. Three days ago, Ethan suddenly told me that his sister, who lived abroad, was moving back. He told me she had a really hard time over the years. She was all alone in Paris, cheated on by her ex-boyfriend, and diagnosed with severe depression… When he said these things, his lips were pressed into a tight line, his eyes dark with a heavy sense of frustration and pain. Seeing him like that made my heart ache. So, when he said, “She’s coming back alone. She doesn't want to go back to her parents’ house and worry them, so she wants to crash with us for a bit,” I agreed without hesitation. At that time, I didn't know his so-called "sister" was the love he’d been longing for all these years. It wasn't until I saw Chloe’s face at the airport that it hit me— I had seen her photo before. It was tucked inside a worn copy of The Great Gatsby on Ethan’s bookshelf. He had used her photo as a bookmark on page 68. On that page, he had underlined a quote in black ink. —“If they ask me what my sorrow is, I wouldn't dare say your name.” —She was the secret he had kept hidden in the depths of his heart. That night, I couldn't sleep, my mind racing with thoughts of Ethan and Chloe. Ethan hugged me from behind, his warm breath tickling my ear. “Can’t sleep?” I nodded. Then, we heard a sharp crash from the living room. I walked out of the bedroom. Chloe was standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by shattered ceramic pieces, tears streaming down her face, her slender body trembling. 3 The shattered pieces on the floor were custom clay figurines of me and Ethan. We made them at a pottery class the day we officially started dating. I sculpted him, and he sculpted me. I always treated them as our most precious keepsakes. I even carved "Ethan and Maya, forever and always" on the wooden base. But now, they were smashed into dozens of pieces. I stared at the ruins of our figurines, frowning. Ethan’s eyes, however, immediately fell on Chloe. Chloe looked beautiful when she cried. Her eyes turned a delicate shade of red, tears falling like rain on a spring flower. Anyone who saw her wouldn't have the heart to scold her. “It’s just a clay doll. It’s nothing. Don't cry,” Ethan sighed softly, pulling her to sit on the sofa. He furrowed his brows. “Why are you so clumsy? You cut your foot.” He left me standing there alone, cleaning up the shattered pieces of our history like a maid. Chloe sat on the couch, frowning, tears in her eyes, looking entirely helpless and pitiful. “Maya… I didn't mean to. I… I just… I just…” “I couldn't sleep, so I came out for a walk. I thought the dolls were cute and wanted to look at them, but my hand slipped…” “Maya, I’m so sorry…” Her hands were shaking as she spoke. Before she could finish, she burst into tears again, as if she had recalled something incredibly painful. Seeing her like this, I said nothing. I walked out to the balcony and pulled out a cigarette. Chloe always called me by my first name in that sickeningly sweet tone. When Ethan was in the kitchen earlier, I sat with her in the living room. She kept asking me about my life with Ethan, calling me “Maya” every other breath. I corrected her: “I’m married to Ethan. You should call me your sister-in-law.” She didn't reply. Instead, she picked up a cat-shaped throw pillow from the couch and smiled at me with feigned surprise. “Oh wow! Look at this, Maya. I gave this to Ethan before I left for Europe. I can't believe he still has it.” My stomach churned. I rolled the unlit cigarette between my fingers. I wasn't actually going to smoke it. I was pregnant. I couldn't smoke. He just didn't know yet. I hadn't found the right time to tell him. Maybe I had been standing on the balcony too long, because Ethan walked over and snatched the cigarette from my hand. “Quit smoking. It’s bad for you.” I hadn't planned on lighting it anyway. Ethan didn't like women who smoked. His type had always been girls like Chloe—long black hair, white dresses, clean and fragile. “Where’s your sister?” I asked. He gestured toward the guest room. “She went to sleep.” I gave a flat “Oh” and kept pressing. “Don't you need to keep her company?” “What?” He froze. I smiled. I asked him how long Chloe was planning to stay here. I looked him in the eye, dropping all pretense. “Ethan, I don't like your sister.” “Do you know something? Years ago, when I was still chasing you, you got blackout drunk. You held me and kept calling out ‘Chloe.’ I didn't know who you were talking about back then, but now I do…” “Do you really just see her as a sister?” “Ethan, tell her to move out. She goes, or I go. Pick one.” 4 Ethan stared at me for a long time, his expression conflicted, before letting out a long sigh. “Maya, what happened earlier—Chloe didn't do it on purpose. She’s just… she has depression. She’s emotionally unstable. Can’t you be a little more understanding?” “I know it’s unfair of me to ask this of you, but her parents, and Chloe herself, were so good to me when I had nothing…” “I didn't bring her here with any ulterior motives. The past is the past. I really just see her as my sister now.” “I have you, don’t I?” Ethan begged me to believe him. I looked at him, and memories flooded my mind. I met Ethan in high school. He was handsome and had great grades, but he wasn't popular. Why? Because he was too isolated. He always sat in the back row, leaning against the wall in the darkest corner of the classroom. When he sat there, the corner seemed even darker, like light couldn't even reach him. But I liked him. I felt like we were the same. Ethan was a transfer student in our senior year. It was rare for anyone to transfer during such a crucial time, but he did. For that entire year, I never saw his parents. Of course, I never saw mine, either. My parents divorced when I was young, and neither of them wanted me. They fought in court, and the judge finally gave me to my dad. Shortly after, they both started their own new families, and I became the disposable leftover. I guessed Ethan’s home life was similar to mine. Or maybe even worse. After all, my dad was generous with his money, even if he didn't give me his time. But Ethan, even with the intense pressure of senior year, worked part-time at a coffee shop every single day. My heart ached for him. More importantly, I knew Ethan was actually incredibly gentle. He looked cold, but one time, after a huge fight with my dad, I hid behind the school bleachers crying. He walked past me, didn't say a word, but quietly left a pack of tissues next to me. I still remember it was dusk. The breeze was warm, and the golden sunset hit him perfectly, making even the tips of his hair glow. I think I fell in love with him right in that moment. Later, I followed him to the same college. I started chasing him. I gave him everything I had. For four years of college, Ethan rarely went home. Holidays, winter breaks, summer breaks—he stayed on campus alone. I shamelessly stuck by his side to keep him company. I spent Christmas after Christmas, birthday after birthday with him. He liked girls with long hair in white dresses, so I grew out my short hair and wore the dresses he liked. He liked home-cooked meals, saying they tasted like family, so I learned how to cook just to make him his favorite dishes. I did so many things for him. But as I did them, I realized… someone else had already done all of this for him first. His life was heavily marked by another girl’s presence. But it didn't matter. I never gave up. If someone else had done it, I would just do it better. I would be so good to him that no one could ever replace me. I had never had anyone treat me well in my entire life. So, I loved him with everything I had. I chased him for five years before the clouds finally cleared and he accepted me. But now, that girl was back. … “Even if you guarantee that you only see her as a sister, what about Chloe?” “Can you guarantee she doesn't have feelings for you?” This time, he didn't speak for a long time. After a heavy silence, he said: “She doesn't. It’s all in the past.” Ethan promised me. He swore that no matter what, he only saw Chloe as a sister. He said he was already looking for an apartment for her. In a few days, once she stabilized, he would move her out. And me… In the end, I couldn't bear to let him go. I couldn't let go of our eight years together. I decided to trust him one last time. For the eight years we shared. And for the unborn baby in my womb. I subconsciously touched my stomach, then quickly dropped my hand. “Ethan, you said it yourself. You better not be lying to me.” “If you lie to me, I promise you, you’ll regret it.” “I will make you regret it.”
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