Chapter 3

The world tilted.

Every memory of the past ten years replayed, now tainted, twisted.

His gentle smiles, his thoughtful gestures.

Were they all for Chloe?

A few nights later, we were at a dinner party. Liam, Chloe' s husband, was telling a story.

Ethan laughed, but his eyes kept drifting to Chloe.

Later that week, he came home late, smelling of beer.

He fell into bed, mumbling in his sleep.

"Chloe... so beautiful..."

Ice spread through my veins.

I lay there, rigid, until the sun rose.

When he woke, groggy and hungover, I kept my voice carefully neutral.

"You were talking in your sleep."

He blinked, rubbing his eyes. "Oh? What did I say?"

"You said Chloe' s name."

A flicker of something in his eyes. Panic? Guilt?

He tried to laugh it off. "Just a dream, Ava. You know how it is."

But I pressed, a cold knot in my stomach. "Ethan, all these years... everything you' ve done... was it for her? To protect her?"

He sat up, suddenly defensive. "What are you talking about?"

"Was it?"

He looked away, his jaw tight. "Chloe' s happiness is important. Of course, I' d do anything to make sure she' s safe and happy."

His words, a confirmation. Not a confession of love for her, not directly, but an admission that his actions were centered around her.

My sacrifices. My life with him. All for Chloe.

The "coincidences" started to click into place.

The restaurants he suggested, always Chloe' s favorites.

"Ava, you should try this place, I heard it' s great," he' d say, knowing Chloe loved it.

The way he' d fuss if Chloe was drinking something too cold, even when she was perfectly fine.

"Chloe, be careful with that, you' ll catch a chill."

Always under the guise of general concern, but always, always aligning with Chloe.

My preferences, my comforts, were an afterthought.

If they happened to align with Chloe' s, fine. If not, they were overlooked.

I was a fool.

A blind, trusting fool.

He' d make a show of bringing me a warm drink on a cool evening.

"Here, honey, don't want you getting cold."

But then I' d see him glance at Chloe, a subtle check, as if ensuring she too was comfortable, his concern for me a performance for her benefit, or a rehearsal of care he wished he could direct at her.

The cup in my hand would feel scalding, not with heat, but with the burn of his deception.

My heart ached with a dull, constant pain.

The man I loved didn't exist.