Chapter 3

I backed out of the bedroom, quietly closing the door. I couldn' t stand to be in that room for another second. I walked down the hall to the small guest room I had been using as a home office and shut the door behind me.

The soundproofing was good, but not perfect. I could hear their voices from the living room, muffled but clear enough.

"Is he gone yet?" Liam asked.

"Almost," Chloe' s voice was a low murmur, laced with affection. "Don' t worry about him, my love. He' s just a chapter that' s over. You and I are the whole book."

"I love you," Liam said.

"I love you more," she replied.

The words, once meant for me, were now a weapon against me. But they didn' t hurt. They clarified. They solidified the cold, hard resolve growing in my chest.

I pulled out my phone and dialed my mother' s number.

"Ethan? Is everything alright, dear?" she answered, her voice warm with concern.

"Everything is fine, Mom," I said, and to my own surprise, I meant it. "I' m at the apartment. I' m just packing a few things. I' ll be on the first train home tomorrow."

"Oh, wonderful!" she exclaimed, relief flooding her voice. "Your father and I will be at the station. We can' t wait to see you. Ethan... we' ve missed you so much."

"I' ve missed you too, Mom," I said, my throat tightening. "I' m sorry. For everything."

"There' s nothing to be sorry for," she said softly. "You' re our son. We love you. That' s all that matters. Now, come home."

We hung up, and I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window. Five years. I had wasted five years pushing away the only people who had ever loved me unconditionally, all for a woman who was currently whispering sweet nothings to another man in my living room. The regret was a bitter pill, but the feeling of relief, of finally heading in the right direction, was stronger.

The door to the office creaked open. Chloe stood in the doorway, a forced, placating smile on her face.

"Hey. Just checking on you," she said. "Are you finding everything okay?"

"I' m fine," I said without turning around.

"Who was that on the phone?" she asked, her tone shifting to one of suspicion.

"My mother."

Her posture relaxed slightly. "Oh. Good. It' s good that you' re talking to her again." She paused, then walked further into the room, holding something out to me. "Look. Liam felt bad about... you know, everything. He got you something."

She was holding a small, elegantly wrapped box of chocolates.

"He said he hopes you two can be friends," she continued, pushing the box toward me. "He' s really a great guy once you get to know him. I know this is all a bit awkward, but I was hoping we could all be mature about this."

She wanted me to accept a peace offering from the man sleeping in my bed. The sheer audacity of it was breathtaking.

I looked at the box. It was from a high-end chocolatier, but the brand was one I knew all too well. My stomach twisted.

"I don' t want it," I said, my voice flat.

"Ethan, don' t be like that," she chided. "He' s trying to be nice. Just take it."

She pushed the box into my hands. The moment my fingers touched the wrapping, a wave of nausea washed over me. The smell of the specific dark chocolate they used, a scent I could detect even through the paper, made my throat close up.

I recoiled, dropping the box on the floor as if it were on fire.

"What is wrong with you?" Chloe' s face hardened, her patience gone. "It' s just a box of chocolates! You' re acting like a spoiled brat."

"I' m allergic," I said through gritted teeth. "To the hazelnuts they use in that specific brand."

She stared at me, her expression blank. "What? No, you' re not."

"Yes, Chloe. I am," I said, my voice rising. "Remember? My seventh birthday party? I ate one of these and my throat swelled shut. I spent the night in the emergency room."

A flicker of recognition, or maybe just annoyance, crossed her face.

I couldn' t stop myself. The memory, buried under years of her selfishness, came rushing back. "Or how about three years ago? When you had that terrible flu and I canceled my presentation for the Bridgerton Tower project-a project that could have made my career-to stay home and take care of you? I accidentally ate a granola bar with hazelnut flour that day. I spent the whole day feeling sick, my throat itching, but I didn' t leave your side because you were crying and saying you needed me."

The memory was so vivid. The feeling of my own discomfort, my own fear, pushed aside because her needs, as always, came first.

Chloe had the grace to look momentarily flustered. She bent down and picked up the box, avoiding my eyes.

"Oh," she said, her voice small. "Right. I... I guess I forgot."

She didn' t look sorry. She looked irritated, as if my allergy was a personal inconvenience to her.

"Sorry," she mumbled, a hollow, meaningless word. She clutched the box of chocolates to her chest and backed out of the room, leaving me alone with the ghost of a memory, and the cold, hard truth of how little I had ever mattered to her at all.