Chapter 2

He still didn't say a word.

"Were you waiting for her?"

"No!" He snapped his head up, his voice frantic. "It's not what you think, Norah. I swear, it was just a stupid mistake. I had too much to drink..."

"Too much to drink?"

"Yeah. We just had some wine..."

The bedroom door clicked open.

The girl walked out. Her heels tapped sharply against the floor.

She had changed into a white button-down shirt and jeans, and her hair was tied back in a neat ponytail.

She looked much more presentable than she had moments ago.

Except for the mark on her neck.

A hickey.

It was fresh, a deep purple-red bruise sitting right above her collarbone.

She walked over to Ethan's side and stood tall, looking at me.

Her gaze was different now. Before, she had been too embarrassed to look at me, but now she stared straight at me, her chin tilted up defiantly.

"I love him," she said.

I stared at her.

"I love him more than you do," she repeated, her voice soft but clear. "We're in love."

"Shut up!" Ethan spun around, glaring at her. "Stop talking!"

She flinched, then quickly wrapped her arms around his elbow, looking up at him. "That's not what you said earlier. You said you were going to marry me."

Ethan violently yanked his arm back and took a step away from her.

She was left standing there, her arms still in the air, her face freezing in shock.

I looked at her, then back at him.

Ethan avoided my gaze, staring intently at the floorboards, his fingers nervously twitching against his pants.

She stood there, biting her lip, her eyes turning red.

"Do you even know who he is?" I asked her.

"Do you know he has a girlfriend of eight years?"

"Yes, I know," she said, lifting her chin.

I blinked, momentarily stunned.

"He told me. He said you guys had been together for a long time." She paused, glancing at him. He kept his head down. "But he said the spark died years ago."

She rushed on, her voice growing more confident. "He said you suffocate him. You control everything he does. He has to report every single detail of his day, and he can barely breathe. He said being with me makes him feel free. He can actually be himself."

I stood perfectly still.

So, asking him how his day was meant I was suffocating him.

Waiting up for him to have dinner together meant he had to report to me.

Caring about whether he was exhausted from working overtime was making him unable to breathe.

I had spent years thinking I was loving him.

To him, it was just a chore.

"He said you're too high-maintenance," she added, a hint of smugness in her tone. "Always telling him to stop eating fast food, telling him to go to bed early, nagging him when he doesn't text back fast enough. He said he couldn't take it anymore."

I looked at Ethan.

He was still staring at the floor, refusing to look at either of us.

"Is that true?" I asked him.

His lips parted, but no sound came out.

"Ethan," I called his name.

He finally looked up, meeting my eyes for a fraction of a second before looking away again.

That split second was all I needed.

It was true.

Every single word she said was true.

An overwhelming, bone-deep exhaustion washed over me.

My legs felt like jelly, but I forced myself to stand straight. I couldn't break down in front of them.

I took a deep breath.

"Fine. We're done."

###