Chapter 2

Gavin was the one who chased me—folded paper stars, wrote me love letters.

He saved most of a semester’s living expenses just to take me to see the ocean I’d dreamed about.

When my grandmother—the only family I had—passed away, a teenaged Gavin bustled about the funeral and held my hand at the altar, promising to be good to me for life.

In that drab youth, his love burned hot and true. It moved me to tears.

But I forgot—promises only count while you’re in love.

But before the company went public, he began, intentionally or not, to separate me from the company.

Friends warned me to be careful. I chose to trust him and returned to the home, cooking and keeping house.

I couldn’t even light a gas stove at first; later I nailed every dish.

My happiest time each day was setting dinner and waiting for him to come home—watching him finish what I made, a heart full of warmth.

I even fantasized: when the baby came someday, how happy the three of us would be.

It was all wishful thinking.

Gavin never planned to marry me.

I sensed something a month before the public listing. He’d been too busy to come home for days—he even forgot my birthday.

He stumbled in the next morning, exhausted.

“Honey, you’re back!” I hugged him, catching a sweet perfume clinging to him.

I didn’t overthink it. After all, social engagements inevitably involve contact with girls, so it's normal to have a scent of perfume.

He didn’t hug me back. Instead, he spoke to me like a maid: “Get me a fresh suit, run me a hot bath. I need a shower.”

I used to love his eyes—bright, brimming with love.

Somewhere along the line, something disappeared. His gaze turned icy and strange.

For a moment I didn’t recognize this man I’d lived beside for over a decade.

I propped up a smile. “Do you remember what yesterday was?”

He should. That day carried all our memories—the day my birth parents abandoned me, the day I accepted his love, and Grandma’s death anniversary.

The darkest turns of my life had all fallen on that date.

I was driftwood in a black tide—until his lighthouse lighted my way. For that I was grateful. I kept a permanent filter on him.

But Gavin forgot. Completely.