Chapter 2
The summer of my high school year, I nearly drowned. A passing police officer died
trying to save me.
At the memorial service, I saw Lance Mitchell, his face pale as ash..
My mom held Mrs. Mitchell, sobbing uncontrollably, saying from now on we’d be one family.
And indeed, we lived as one family after that.
On those deep nights when Mrs. Mitchell cried in her room, I’d quietly slip in with my pillow and hold her as she slept.
She was good to me, her hand trembling as she stroked my head.
My dad transferred Lance to the private academy where I studied.
He grew more silent by the day, while I became his shadow, part follower, part
caretaker.
Even when his eyes flashed with hostility, I stubbornly persisted in being kind to
him.
In our senior year, he turned rebellious, often skipping class to smoke on the
rooftop.
I snuck up there to find him one day, only to see him kissing a girl. Red–faced and flustered, I tried to flee, but he called out to me with a sneer.
“Didn’t you see everything already?”
He pulled the girl up, pointing at me: “Meet my future wife.”
His words dripped with mockery: “She’s rich. My mom adores her.
I was so embarrassed my toes curled against the floor, but I couldn’t just turn and
leave.
That night, he pushed open my door, leaning against the wall, looking down at me. “You know why I fucking hate transferring schools?”
He said there was a girl he liked named Brooke Taylor. He’d planned to confess after graduation.
“But my dad died, and now I can’t do anything I want.”
The hatred in his eyes became my nightmare.
1/3
02
I secretly went to see Brooke Taylor once. The girl in her school uniform had the
sweetest dimples when she smiled.
I signed quickly, feeling like a layer of dust had been wiped from my heart. Lance snatched the paper away without so much as a glance at me.
He pulled Brooke towards the exit: “See you in a month.”
But the voice in my heart was clearer: this is the last time we’ll ever meet.
The door slammed shut, only to be pushed open by a waiter moments later.
“Should I bring out the additional dishes now?”
No one answered him. My mom, as if she’d been holding it in for ages, burst into
tears.
My dad patted her back gently, trying to comfort her.
Mrs. Mitchell sat there, stunned, as if she still couldn’t process what had just
happened.
And I, the person at the center of it all, felt like a ghost.
I slowly stood up: “No need. Let’s just pay the bill.”
I mechanically swiped my card, returned to the private room to put on my coat, my fingers numb.
Was I calm?
No, just too numb to feel anything.
I walked out, went down to the parking lot, and sat in my car.
My eyes burned, but I forced back the tears.
What was there to cry about?
I’d always known this day would come for Lance and me.
From the day he inexplicably proposed with a bouquet at my college graduation.
Then dragged me to get our marriage license without any discussion.
He moved so fast, even as everyone tried to convince him not to rush.
We needed time to prepare for the wedding, invite guests, find me a proper dress.
But he just tossed out: “If we wait, I might change my mind.”
Back then, I mechanically signed the papers too, walking out in a daze.
2/3
02
His next words snapped me back to reality.
He said: “Brooke Taylor’s gone abroad. Are you satisfied now?”
The hatred in his voice cut me like a thousand knives. I knew he despised me.
After we married, he refused to touch me.
Every time I reached out to him, blushing, he’d recoil as if electrocuted.
“I married you, what more do you want?”
So for years after, when Mrs. Mitchell would tentatively ask if there was any news,
I never knew what to say.
Gradually, she stopped liking me too.
More than once, she sighed to my face: “The Mitchell line is going to end with us.” Now, she and I could both breathe a sigh of relief.
