1 After Gwen was laid off, Owen took some annual leave to accompany her to the coast to clear her head. To keep me from overthinking, he casually dragged me along too. The three of us went beachcombing on the rocky shore. Gwen suggested a contest to see who could gather the most shells and crabs. I fell for it, carrying my little plastic bucket deep into the jagged reef. The tide rushed in fast. Waves rolled up, layer by layer, and a sudden, sharp pain shot through the sole of my foot. A piece of discarded broken glass had sliced right into my heel. "Owen, help me! I'm hurt!" But when I turned around, the rocky shore behind me was empty. I called his phone, but it went straight to voicemail. Clutching the sharp rocks, I limped back to the shore, one excruciating step at a time. By the time I finally collapsed onto the sandy path, a text message buzzed on my phone. It was a photo. Owen's bucket was completely empty. Gwen's bucket, however, was overflowing with crabs and glossy clams. Judging by the sheer volume, they had spent the afternoon filling it together. "Hey babe, I was carrying both buckets and couldn't grab my phone. Gwen got a whole haul and I came in dead last. How did you do, Nora?" A bitter laugh escaped my throat. I had been missing for two hours, and all they cared about was who won the game. My foot was still bleeding, pulsing with sharp pain. I booked the earliest ticket out of the coastal town for the next morning. This trip was meant to comfort her anyway. I was never supposed to be here. I hailed a local moped taxi and rode alone to the small clinic. The doctor frowned as he used tweezers to pluck the shards of glass from my flesh. "This is deep. How did you get here alone? Where are your friends?" The sting of the rubbing alcohol made my fingertips go numb. "They're back at the house," I murmured. After wrapping it up, I borrowed a pair of crutches. Clutching my empty bucket, I slowly made my way back to the rental cottage. Night had fallen completely. The coastal village was dark, punctured only by the occasional bark of stray dogs. I have always been terrified of dogs, and I trembled with every step. When I pushed the front door open, a romantic movie was playing on the TV in the living room. Owen and Gwen were curled up on the sofa. Gwen's hair was freshly blow-dried, her soft sweater swallowing her small frame as she snuggled into the cushions. Owen sat right beside her, the remote in his hand. He only looked up when the door clicked shut. "Babe, where have you been?" "At the clinic. I cut my foot." He jumped up immediately, taking the crutches and supporting my weight, his brow furrowing deeply. "How do you even manage to get hurt beachcombing? You need to be more careful." I stared at him, throat dry, unable to find words. He took the empty bucket from my hand. "Well, the results are in anyway. Gwen took first place, you're second, and I'm last." Gwen poked her head over the sofa, teasingly sticking her tongue out. "Oh, stop it. You helped me the whole time. You didn't even try to look for your own; you just kept flipping rocks for me. I wouldn't have caught a thing without you." I just nodded. The cottage was thick with the heavy scent of seafood. The dining table was piled high with a feast they had prepared. My stomach churned. I do not eat seafood. I had told Owen this dozens of times. That was why I wanted to change the destination when we first planned this trip. Back then, he had told me, "This is Gwen's layoff trip. She's devastated. We're here to support her, so let's go with what she wants. If you don't eat seafood, we can just walk along the beach." That was how I ended up dragged into this. Gwen was in high spirits. She brought a small pan out of the kitchen, smiling warmly. "Nora, I made something even better." She poured the sizzling herb butter over the baked sea bass. The rosemary crackled against the crispy skin. Then she drizzled the white wine reduction along the side. "Owen just taught me how to do this today. He said it's the best way." My mind went slightly blank. I was the one who taught Owen that technique. Back when he had no appetite, I had prepared a baked fish for him at home. How to sear it, how to baste it with hot butter to crisp the skin, I had explained it to him step by step. Yet, Owen had never once cooked it for me. Now, he was teaching it to Gwen. Gwen flaked off a piece of the tender fish, blew on it, and laughed. "Who wants the first bite?" Owen settled me into a chair and immediately held out his plate. "Me!" Gwen dropped the fish onto his plate with a giggle. "It's delicious! You weren't kidding, you really are a chef!" "Oh, don't tease me," Owen laughed. "But a meal like this needs a drink. Let's see what we've got." He opened the fridge. "I bought sodas and wine today. What do you girls want?" Gwen raised her hand. "I'll have my usual." "Sprite and red wine?" "Exactly!" He poured the red wine into a glass, topped it with Sprite, and handed it to her. "Perfect match!" Gwen took a sip, then slid the glass toward me. "Want a taste, Nora?" Owen looked at me expectantly. "Try it, Nora. Gwen used to drink this all the time at the office. Sprite and red wine, it's light and tastes amazing. Honestly, the first time she mixed it for me, I was blown away." The cut on my foot throbbed. "I'm on medication. I can't drink." Owen finally seemed to remember I had just come back from the clinic. He slapped his forehead, looking genuinely remorseful. "Right, I completely forgot. What do you want to drink instead then?" My hand tightened around my glass. Before we left, I had specifically reminded him about a local brand of sparkling orange press that was only sold on this part of the coast. I had seen reviews of it online and wanted to try it for months. That morning, when he went out to get drinks, I had said, "Remember to grab me two bottles of that orange press." He had promised so quickly back then. "Got it. How could I ever forget the things you like?" But he did. He smacked his forehead again. "Ah, damn it! I meant to get you that orange soda." Gwen quickly stepped in to smooth things over. "Oh, Nora won't mind a little thing like that." She grabbed a clean glass and poured me some Sprite. The bubbles hissed and popped. "This works just as well. Soda is soda, right?" She handed me the cup, her fingers catching the warm overhead light. Her nails were painted a glossy cherry red. The edges were perfectly neat, without a single smudge. "So, what do you think? Pretty, right? I brought my own polish, and Owen just painted them for me. I ruined my nails at a salon last week, and he promised he'd paint them for me if he got the chance, so I brought the bottle. I was worried he'd be clumsy, but he's actually amazing at it." So, while I was clutching the jagged rocks, limping back to shore with blood pooling in my shoe, Owen was sitting in this cozy living room, carefully brushing cherry-red polish onto Gwen's fingernails. Gwen leaned her chin on her hand, looking at me with a sweet smile. "Does Owen do this for you at home too, Nora?" "No." Owen cleared his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Stop teasing her. Nora doesn't care for these kinds of things." But I remembered when I had asked him to pick me up from the nail salon once. He had scowled at my freshly manicured hands. "The smell is toxic, and it's a waste of money. Why do girls even like this stuff?" Yet here he was, painting Gwen's nails with painstaking care. The seafood on the table steamed. Gwen ate happily while Owen kept piling food onto her plate, peeling shrimp and picking out fish bones for her. I sat there with nothing but a glass of Sprite. Out of the entire feast, there wasn't a single thing I could eat. Owen finally noticed. "Why aren't you eating?" "I don't eat seafood." "You're just a picky eater, that's why you're so thin." He turned back to Gwen with a chuckle. "See? Gwen isn't picky at all. She eats small portions, but she's always willing to try everything." Gwen waved her hands defensively. "Oh, stop it!" Owen added naturally, "Back at the office, you'd always bring this tiny bowl, eat a few bites of whatever we had, and declare you were full. The whole department thought you were adorable." Gwen blushed, tapping the back of his hand lightly with her chopsticks. "Be quiet." Owen grinned and walked into the kitchen. When he came out, he held a small saucer. He placed a few peeled shrimp and a prime piece of fish belly on it, then slid it in front of Gwen. "You know what this is? Your kiddie plate! Remember when we got food and you insisted on a kids' meal just because you thought the miniature plate was the cutest thing ever? We all died of cuteness!" Gwen blinked, her eyes curving into crescents. "You still remember that?" "Of course I do." He couldn't remember my seafood allergy, or my orange soda, or that I shouldn't be drinking alcohol with my injury. But he remembered Gwen's favorite drinks and every little detail of their shared meals. I quietly poked at the plain rice in my bowl. Owen sighed, getting up to rummage through a bag near the sofa. "Almost forgot, I still have some bread here." He tossed a squished loaf of white bread onto the table. "Gwen slept in this morning, so I bought some bread in case she missed breakfast." Gwen smiled. "I told you we wouldn't finish all of that." Owen pushed the bag toward me, his eyes lingering on Gwen. "See? It came in handy." Then he looked at me. "There's still half a loaf left. Eat some of this so you don't starve." The bread was dry and squashed. The sweet cream filling in the center had already been eaten; only the dry crusts remained. I tore off a piece and chewed. It was so dry it scraped my throat. Seeing me eat, Owen looked relieved. "That's my good girl. We're on vacation, Nora. You can't be too picky. Just get some food in you and enjoy the trip." I didn't argue. I just lowered my head and forced the dry bread down my throat. At that table, two people feasted on fresh seafood. One sat chewing on dry, leftover crusts. Once they finished, Owen started clearing the table, offering to do the dishes. Gwen stopped him, glancing at my bandaged foot. "Owen, go sit with Nora. Her foot is hurt; she needs you. I'll do the dishes." Owen smiled. "No need. Didn't we agree? I cook, you clean. But I'll handle it tonight." Gwen paused, then beamed. "You still remember our rule?" "Of course I do." Owen took the plates. "Besides, Nora walked back on her own, so it can't be that bad. She looks fragile, but she's actually tough. She's not that delicate." I sat in my chair, the pain in my foot throbbing in waves. But Owen had already turned away, rolling up his sleeves. "The water is freezing tonight. I don't want a pretty girl like you ruining her hands." "Oh, Owen, you're too good to be true," Gwen hummed, turning to look at me. "Nora, you are so lucky to have him." I clutched the dry plastic bag of bread, my mind utterly blank. Lucky? We had been together for five years. In all that time, he had barely stepped foot in our kitchen. "Let me help you clear the plates then," Gwen said, humming a tune as she carried the dishes into the kitchen. "Careful, don't drop them," Owen called out. "Why are you nagging me like my mom?" "Because you're clumsy. I have to keep an eye on you." One washed, the other dried. The sound of running water, light laughter, and the dialogue from the movie melted together. The cottage felt warm, lively, and complete, like a home. Just not mine. I slipped the dry bread back into the bag. It was too hard to swallow anyway. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a notification from the transit app. The ticket for the 6:20 AM ferry and bus ride back to the city had been confirmed. I stared at the screen, and suddenly, the lingering ache of the evening didn't seem so unbearable. Since I couldn't get my foot wet, I wanted to take a quick sponge bath. I pushed myself up with the crutches, my heel stinging instantly. Owen was just coming out of the kitchen. I looked at him, but before I could speak, Gwen's voice drifted from the adjacent bedroom. "Owen? Can you grab my pajamas for me? I forgot to bring them in." Owen didn't hesitate. He turned instantly. "Where are they?" "In the top zipper of my suitcase." Gwen added with a giggle, "I would've asked Nora, but her foot is hurt. Nora, don't get mad! Owen and I are strictly platonic!" Owen glanced back at me. "She's not the jealous type." Then he walked straight into Gwen's room. He didn't notice how hard it was for me to stand, let alone bathe myself. But he heard her request for pajamas perfectly. A moment later, Owen walked out holding a set of light satin pajamas. Wrapped inside them was a strawberry-print bralette. He caught sight of it and let out a soft laugh. "Gwen, the strawberries are a bit childish, don't you think?" An embarrassed shriek echoed from the bathroom. "Owen! Shut up! You're so gross!" Owen laughed, hanging the clothes on the bathroom doorknob. "Alright, alright, I'm not looking." His voice was light, dripping with effortless playfulness. I kept my head down, using the wall to support myself as I hobbled into the other bathroom. Despite my care, a drop of water splashed onto the bandage. A sharp, searing pain shot up my leg, making me gasp. I leaned heavily against the sink for a long time, waiting for the agony to subside. When I finally came out, Owen was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. He looked up. "All done?" I nodded. As if suddenly remembering, he asked, "Does your foot still hurt?" Before I could answer, Gwen emerged from her room, blow-drying her hair. "Owen, you promised you'd talk with me tonight. I'm still feeling really down. It's just, getting fired is so embarrassing." Owen set his phone down immediately. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about. They didn't deserve you. It's their loss." He walked over, plugged in the hair dryer, and gently lifted her damp strands, blowing them dry with practiced ease. "You always know just what to say," she whispered. A quiet ache settled in my chest. In five years, Owen had rarely dried my hair. Whenever I asked, he did it begrudgingly, with heavy sighs, until I eventually stopped asking altogether. Turns out, he was capable of doing it willingly. He just didn't want to do it for me. After her hair was dry, Owen turned to me. "Nora, I'm going to sit in her room for a bit to talk things through." "Now?" "Yeah." He softened his voice, as if trying to soothe me. "She just lost her job, and she's emotionally fragile right now. I'm just going to talk to her, nothing else. Besides, if there were actually something going on between us, would I have brought you along on this trip?" I had asked him countless times to go on trips with me. A weekend getaway, a cabin in the mountains, anything. Every time, he had excuses. No time, too hard to get leave, travel is exhausting, we should just rest at home. But the moment Gwen got laid off, he took his annual leave, booked this rental, bought the tickets, and dragged me along as an afterthought. I looked at him and nodded quietly. "Go ahead." He walked to Gwen's door, then paused. "Make sure you sleep early. Don't walk around too much on that foot." Gwen poked her head out, offering a playful pout. "Don't worry, Nora! I promise to return your boy in one piece later!" The door closed, leaving the cottage dead silent. But the walls were thin. I could hear every word from the next room. Gwen talked about the office, which boss was the biggest micromanager, which colleagues gossiped behind her back, the projects they had pulled all-nighters to finish. Owen's laughter punctuated her stories. "You still remember that?" "Of course! You were so tired you almost poured coffee into the printer!" Gwen laughed even harder. "You weren't any better!" Their voices floated through the wall, light, familiar, and filled with endless shared memories. Whenever I had asked Owen about his work, he would shut down. "I'm exhausted, Nora. Let's not talk about work. You wouldn't understand the office politics anyway. It's boring." It wasn't boring. It just wasn't meant for me. I sat on the edge of the bed, opened my suitcase, and began to pack. My clothes, my toiletries, my charger, my ID, and the medication from the clinic. My foot throbbed with every movement, but I kept going, packing everything away. By the time I finished, it was 1:30 AM. Owen hadn't returned. At 2:00 AM, I heard the crack of beer cans opening next door. At 3:00 AM, Gwen started crying softly. Owen's voice was low and tender. "It's not your fault. You're amazing. You'll find something better, and I'll be right there to help you search." I lay in the dark, my eyes wide open as the sky slowly turned gray. At 5:30 AM, my silent alarm vibrated. I shut it off and stood up with my crutches. The house was quiet. The living room light was still on, casting a dim glow over the empty beer cans on the coffee table. Gwen's bedroom door was slightly ajar. As my crutch brushed against the frame, the door nudged open a fraction. Inside, Owen and Gwen were asleep on the same bed. Gwen was curled up at the headboard, Owen's jacket draped over her shoulders. Owen lay curled at the foot of the bed. They were on opposite ends, as if they really had just fallen asleep from talking too much. But looking at them, I didn't even have the energy to demand an explanation. I walked to the living room, placed the room key on the table, and dragged my suitcase out of the cottage. The morning sea breeze was freezing. The shuttle driver loaded my suitcase into the trunk and looked back. "Anyone else?" I looked at the quiet, glowing cottage one last time. I shook my head. "No," I said. "Just me."
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