Chapter 3

The days that followed were a blur of drizzling rain and a constant, dull headache. The world outside my window was gray and washed out, a perfect match for the landscape of my heart.

Daniel didn't call. He didn't text. He didn't come home. The Dream Home was no longer ours; it was just mine, a vast, empty space filled with ghosts of a life that was never going to happen.

Sophie, however, did come.

She showed up on the third day, holding a bouquet of expensive, funereal-looking lilies. She wore a new cashmere sweater I knew Daniel had bought for her on his last business trip to Milan.

"Olivia, darling," she said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "I heard about your little fall. I felt so awful. I just had to come and see if you were okay."

She sat on the edge of the sofa, leaning in conspiratorially. "Daniel is just so worried about you. But he's been swamped with work, you know? This new project is taking all of his energy."

She was a master of the subtle wound, the casual mention that twisted the knife. I just nodded, my face a polite, empty mask.

"Well, you just rest up," she said, patting my hand. "Don't you worry about a thing at the firm. I'm taking care of everything for Daniel."

She left after a few more minutes of this torment, leaving the sickly sweet smell of lilies in her wake.

"I can't believe the nerve of that woman," Chloe fumed after the door closed behind her. "Coming here, flaunting the sweater he was supposed to buy for you. She's a snake."

"It's not her fault, Chloe," I said, my voice weary. "You can't blame a snake for being a snake. You only blame yourself for letting it into your house."

I felt a desperate need for air, for a change of scenery. I decided to take a walk in the garden, the one part of the house that still felt like mine.

The rain had softened to a mist, and the green was vibrant and alive. I breathed in the scent of wet earth and felt a tiny sliver of peace.

That's when I saw it. A small, shivering ball of black fur huddled under a rose bush.

It was a stray cat, no bigger than my hand, its eyes huge and green in its tiny face. It looked up at me and let out a pathetic, hopeful meow.

My first instinct was to back away. A dog had bitten me when I was a child, and I had been wary of animals ever since.

Chloe moved to shoo it away. "Get out of here, you little thing."

But the kitten just blinked at me, unafraid. It took a wobbly step forward, then another, until it was rubbing against my leg, purring like a tiny motor.

Something inside me, a part of me I thought had died, softened.

I bent down and scooped it up. It was so light, so fragile. It curled up in my hands and looked up at me with absolute trust.

"I think I'll keep him," I said, a real smile touching my lips for the first time in days.