The fever had scorched open a locked door in my mind. Years ago, to ease my anxiety, Ethan had installed a tracking app on his phone, linked to mine.
My fingers trembled as I opened it. I found out he wasn’t going to work at all.
His car zigzagged for hours, vanishing into the remote outskirts. Then he walked miles until it was afternoon.
I couldn’t help but admire his patience, and I was envious of how meticulously he protected the woman he cherished. All that meticulous care never belonged to me.
Then something felt off. Ethan’s final location was my villa.
I had lived in this old house for ten years, and there was no place in the house I didn’t know. Yet there were no sounds of him opening the door.
A strange, almost supernatural urge flooded over me, and I found myself in the cluttered storage room on the first floor.
I shoved aside boxes until the underground entrance appeared before my eyes. I never expected Ethan to keep his lover under our roof. Bitterness spread in my heart.
My phone buzzed as a message came from the agent.
[Ms. Melton, your accounts are closed. Proceeding with digital footprint erasure. Awaiting final confirmation.]
Before I could reply, keys jingled at the front door. Ethan was home early with a huge bouquet of red roses. It was his usual trick to make me happy.
But then, he covered my eyes with his hands and led me outside. Gifts spilled from the trunk of his car, wrapped and labeled from 0 to 21.
I was stunned, and my nose tingled with the onset of tears.
I had already decided to let go. Yet his affection moved me once again.
Ethan got down on one knee. The warm light from the setting sun shone on him, making him seem so noble and untouchable
