Chapter 2

I climbed the creaking stairs up to the fifth floor and opened the door.

The room looked the same as it did on this day last year.

Beside the old television sat a photo of my mother. The candle in front of it had long since burned out.

I replaced it with a new one, wrapped an apron around my waist, and went into the kitchen.

Soon, a simple dinner was ready. Across the table sat a pair of empty bowls and chopsticks. I ate slowly.

"Mom, I saw Ethan today."

"Don't get angry just yet. He can't bully your daughter anymore. And I'm not as naive as I used to be."

Silence was the only reply.

I had no appetite. I put down my fork and walked into the bedroom, pulling out an old photo album.

"Look how beautiful you were when you were young. That black-and-white photo doesn't do you justice."

Before I even opened the album, a photo slipped out and landed at my feet.

I bent down to pick it up and saw the faces clearly.

Ethan, me, and Sophie.

Three youthful faces laughing freely for the camera.

I stood in the middle, arms locked with both of them, my smile the biggest—though there was a noticeable gap where my right canine tooth once was, making me look a little silly.

That was the summer when I was thirteen.

Some thugs came knocking at Ethan's place to settle a debt, shouting and threatening. Not one neighbor dared to help—not even my own parents.

But I charged in.

The fist meant for Ethan landed squarely on my face.

My tooth shattered on the spot, and my face stayed swollen for more than half a month.

Mom was heartbroken and told me to stay away from Ethan's family.

But we didn't expect Ethan's mother, Linda, dragging her disabled legs, to come to my parents crying and thanking them over and over.

Mom softened.

For the next ten years or so, there was always an extra set of dishes for Ethan at our dinner table. Every Christmas, one more set of teenage clothes would be laid out with ours.

When Mom had spare time, she helped Linda run her street stall. When someone gave Linda trouble, Mom went all out, scolding the person until they never came back.

They called each other sisters.

No one could have guessed that this timid, insecure "younger sister" — who couldn't even speak without stuttering — would end up in her sister's husband's bed.

When I got home that day, the place was wrecked.

Mom stood in the center of the room, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. Red slap marks blazed across her cheeks. Dad was holding that woman tightly in his arms.

"We're getting a divorce. You keep everything—I just want Linda," he said.

Ethan stood next to me, panicked, trying to reach for Linda's hand.

But Mom slapped him, twice—hard.

I shoved her back. She fell to the ground, staring at me in disbelief.

I was crying too then, but what I said cut like a knife.

"Mom, what right do you have to hit Ethan?"

The flood of memory stilled on the photo in my hand.

After divorcing Ethan, I burned everything that once had to do with him. I didn't expect this one old photo to have slipped through the cracks.

Just as I was about to throw it in the trash, there was a knock at the door.

I figured it was Mrs. Susan, my neighbor who always stopped by this time of year.

But instead, what greeted me was Sophie—her arm linked with Ethan's.

She smiled brightly.

"Abby, it's been so long! You haven't changed a bit. Ethan couldn't say no to me. We just dropped by—hope we're not disturbing you?"

I looked at both of them calmly.

"I'm not inviting you in. What do you want?"

Sophie's smile faltered, her expression a little hurt. She turned to the man beside her.

"Sophie just wanted to see you. She brought you something. That's all," Ethan said, setting a gift bag on the cabinet beside the door.

Sophie quickly chimed in.

"This skincare set is something I've really been loving lately, and I happened to have an extra. We used to share good things all the time, so I thought you might like it."

I glanced down at it. Looked just like the kind my housekeeper used.

"That photo..." she started to say.

Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "Abby, all these years... you still haven't let it go, have you?"

I crumpled the photo in my hand and tossed it into the trash. "You're overthinking it."

She seemed like she wanted to hold my hand, but stopped halfway through reaching out.

"I know there's still resentment in your heart. If you and Ethan had stayed together, today would've been your wedding anniversary too."

"What happened back then... I didn't have a choice. If you really don't care anymore, then let us treat you to a meal. If there's anything you need help with, just say it. We're still old friends, after all."

I was about to say no on instinct.

But from the little shrine behind me, beside Mom's photo, the candle suddenly flickered with a faint "pop."

I gave a small smile—and changed my mind.

"Alright."